This Warm Rush
by chasethelights
Summary: co-written with myrevelate. Edward never returned to Carlisle, his "rebellious years" stretching into decades. Bella is in Seattle, avoiding a dance and buying books. But she's a danger magnet, and ends up attracting something she never expected.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello again! I can't believe it's been nearly a year since we began this! Maybe this summer we'll finally see the illiustrious conclusion. Just as a note, TWR will be posted on my account from now on, not M's, though she'll continue to update on Twilighted. Now, let's relive, shall we? **

--

Living forever is completely romanticized by those whose life span is incredibly brief and so very easily ended. They are shortsighted, naïve, never realizing that such a so-called gift must require some kind of payment. For anyone who lives - and that term he uses with derision - beyond his or her allotted time must also live with this curse. An unquenchable thirst, sated only temporarily by blood.

They also fail to take into consideration that eternity is exceedingly dull.

It's another overcast day in Seattle - February is only just creeping in. Despite the unpleasant weather he can smell spring on the air, that time of year for growth and renewal. It comes down in the water, the wind carries a fresh scent from less urban areas.

He isn't hunting, having just fed the previous evening. It's difficult to cover his tracks sometimes, but over the years he has learned to be cautious. While he spends most of his time in Seattle – foolishly unwilling to be too far from his former family - he often travels for hunting. Too many killings and disappearances limited to killers and rapists and the other monsters of human society would garner attention and people would begin to believe some vigilante group was at work.

He'd learned from _that_ error over fifty years ago.

Of course, mistakes happen now and again, and the ones he deems deserving to die sometimes aren't his only victims.

So when he catches her scent that day, the ever-present monster whispers inside him with glee that an innocent is going to die soon.

He's been drinking human blood for almost eighty years. Some taste more appealing than others, but this is by far the most enticing aroma he's ever encountered. If he were a younger vampire, he'd be tearing off after this scent without a second thought as to who could see him. Even with his experience it's incredibly difficult not to lose control completely.

Immediately, he starts planning. He isn't much of a tracker, but this scent is already engrained onto his brain.

Taking stock, he glances around. He is standing in a large bookshop, concealed behind large shelves filled with books on music theory. It's a Saturday afternoon, and the city is buzzing with shoppers, although this particular corner of the shop is quiet.

Resisting the urge to fall into a crouch and stalk his prey, he tries to remain casual as he inhales. The scent hits him again like a battering ram and a shudder runs through him. A few people glance his way, giving him odd looks, and their thoughts drift into his head. But they are easily ignored; he is more than used to this by now.

He moves along the shelves before coming out into the more open plan aspect of the shop and halts abruptly. The scent is stronger here, forcing him to stop his breathing temporarily. He's going to need some fresh air soon, before he loses all control. But first he needs to find this human – he's running no risk of losing it. His black eyes are roaming over the area and he moves again just as a girl walks in front of him, clutching her purchases in a bag. He inhales, and it hits him stronger than ever.

In that second his vision narrows down to her as he watches her leave the shop.

--

Seattle is an excuse.

She's been fumbling with them all week, not at all used to the sudden attention that has been lavished upon her. She wants to dismiss it as just small-town curiosity. Not used to the strange geography of Washington, where everything is rough, watery, and unnaturally _green_, she picks the first large city she that comes to mind; something that constitutes an all day trip, and Seattle is it. It could have just as easily been Portland or even Port Angeles, taking into consideration the way her sturdy red truck chugs and groans along the two lane highway in and out of Forks. She could have picked Everett. That's a good four hours in any normal car—which meant at least six for her, trips across four different bodies of water and through various small towns on the shores of Lake Washington. But she doesn't have any particular craving for out-of-commission Chuck Taylor's and no desire to pick some up as an afterthought to her imaginary trip.

Charlie isn't pleased with the idea of letting her go to Seattle alone. In fact, to her horror he offers to chaperone, after inquiring after her status in regards to Forks' upcoming dance, of course. He calls Mike Newton by name, and she flushes a deep cherry, shaking her head, and reminding him that Phoenix is far more dangerous than Seattle, and even _she_ had somehow managed survival there.

The ferry ride is interesting, uneventful and lacking in stares, which she relishes. Here, her almost sickly-pale skin doesn't stick out, and she can tuck herself into a corner without event.

She locates a bookstore rather quickly, a combination of inner radar and the fact that the city is nearly teeming with out of the way, family-owned stores and hodgepodges of half a century of compiled junk that her fingers itch at the chance to go through. There are only Barnes & Nobles' back home; this is a new literary frontier.

Her perch near the back of haphazard piles and dusty shelves is occupied for a good two hours, as she searches her way through tattered copies of Shakespeare and Jane Austen (and even the occasional Danielle Steele, because she's _curious_, after all), and when she leaves - paper package clutched tightly to her chest - she muses that perhaps this day has not been just an excuse after all.

The next thing to do, the smart thing, would be to find some place to sit. Preferably somewhere with lots of sunlight, and a fair amount of people. But however good at taking care of others she may be, she has never done well when it comes to herself, and today is no exception. There is an odd noise in an alleyway, something that reminds her of the high-pitched whine of a young kitten, and touched with a young girl's curiosity and daring (for all things animal, five-year-olds will do nearly _anything_) she peers in, the whine escalating to almost a yowl.

A shiver passes through her, and she realises - perhaps too late - that this, like many of her other ideas is best left on the drawing board.

--

He can see her. He's following her. She's _right there_, with her blood screaming at him and yet her mind is totally silent. It's something that has never happened before, and yet only a small part of him cares about that. Her somehow impenetrable mind takes a backseat to her other, more delicious qualities.

It is mildly irritating, not knowing exactly what she will do next. But humans are predictable and it isn't like there's any way she could possibly fight or outrun him. Another wash of venom needs to be swallowed and his fists clench as someone bumps into him. He knows he should walk away – this is a young girl, usually the type of human he would try and save in his own twisted way from a would-be attacker. Yes, he knows this. But again, it just doesn't seem to _matter_.

She stops. At the entrance to an alleyway.

A smirk appears on his face for just a split second. That, he has to admit, is unexpected, but her distraction could work in his favour. He steels himself to breathe in her scent and slowly approaches her.

"Excuse me." If there is one thing he can do well, it is turn on the charm. It's something that's been bred into him, really, remnants of an old human past with customs so different from today. "Are you okay? You look a little shaken." His voice is smooth, seductive and his sweet breath swirls in the air around her. There's no trace of insincerity in his tone or his looks – he's the poster boy for wide eyed, well meaning young gentlemen everywhere.

Minus the black eyes with the sinister iris of red, of course.

But that is a negligible concern; he doubts it would be enough to scare her away.

It's then that he looks at her properly, and is slightly staggered that such a frail looking human girl could smell so good. He stops breathing when she stares at him and blushes, and has to close his eyes momentarily. It was hard enough trying to block one sense, but seeing the blood pooling like that is a little too much. This is still too dangerous; there are too many other humans around, and he needs to keep up this façade for just a few moments longer.

She doesn't reply immediately, so he leans in closer, taking her arm with exaggerated gentleness. He is really pushing it now, feeling her warmth through her clothes, _knowing_ that what he craves is so close.

"Can I help you at all?" The concerned mask is still in place, but the slight urgency in his voice isn't faked at all. His even closer proximity means his breath is wafting in her face, and he wonders if he is perhaps overdoing it. The girl seems to be staring without seeing, and she still doesn't immediately reply, apparently deep in thought – and at that second he would give anything to know what's going through her head.

--

She hasn't been entirely truthful with Charlie.

She's survived Phoenix, but mentally adds on _just barely_ to her sentences. It's unsurprising, given the general character traits that have emerged over the years. Even a flat surface is dangerous when you forget to tie your shoelaces, and while she can remember to fish water bills out of a plastic salad bowl before vital utilities are cut off, daily preventive care is a myth for her.

The scratching in the alley that followed the yowl makes her draw backwards in surprise, all of her illusions of a small, abandoned kitten shattering with a suspicious crash and the clang of metal trashcans. When she turns, expecting to find sunlight, she nearly runs into the darkness.

It strikes her as odd, his attire. Washington is by no means the warmest place she's been, a revelation evident when she pulls on her old winter clothes for a "warm" day. Still, black is an odd colour to be wearing. Even stranger is the rest of his appearance. She is sure she's never seen anything quite so beautiful as him, and she feels her jaw go slack as she takes him in, entirely neglecting the fact that words are coming out of his mouth, directed at her.

Another shiver runs up her spine when she notices his eyes. Dark, almost black, they contrast everything else about his appearance, and make him look almost demonic.  
_  
You've seen slasher movies that start out this way, Bella_, the tinny voice in her head reminds her, and she pushes it away half-heartedly, all the while murmuring to herself that Phoenix is far more dangerous than Seattle, over and over again. _There are a couple of romance movies that begin this way too_, she compromises. It doesn't matter that she can't recall any names.

"Oh—I didn't see you there," she ducks her head, a rich blush spreading into her cheeks, as she steps back just slightly, starting in surprise when he takes hold of her arm. She chances one quick glance up at him, "Seattle's unofficial welcoming committee?"

The joke comes out weak; she feels like she's spinning - he's so close. His hand against her arm is cool, and as the chill spreads to the rest of her body, she shivers, wondering, leaning back as he leans in closer.

"I—I just thought I heard a cat or something. Um. You know girls and animals," she smiles tentatively up at him, and is thoroughly surprised at his expression. Like he's waiting, expressly for her to do something. To run? She can't say.

"I should catch—the ferry. The ferry's not going to leave for another two hours after this," she mumbles, caught in his stare, and though something feels wrong about it, she can't say quite say what. Charlie would worry. Charlie would search and she can imagine that embarrassment quite vividly. It's not another one that she wants added to her list.

He pays little attention to her mumblings, somehow hoping to be able to hear her mind now that he's so close to her. And he is _dangerously_ close, his grip tightening on her arm as he thinks about it. He can just feel that blood gushing just under her skin.

She doesn't move beyond leaning back slightly from him, and he decides that he's waited long enough. He straightens, still holding her arm and chances a glance at the humans surrounding them. Her scent is dancing around him and he swallows another mouthful of venom. Searching the thoughts of everyone around them and scanning their faces quickly, he realizes with pleasure that no one is paying them any attention. Why should they? Humans are selfish creatures, all wrapped up in their own activities. No one would notice what he and the girl were doing, all of them would merely pay lip service when they heard of her death.

Glancing back down at her, he sees that she's still staring at him.

She's finding his silence entirely unnerving, and it only makes her babble more as he continues to stare at her, and she feels a quiet sort of panic creeping up her spine. "I'll—I'll just go then," she murmurs, not knowing that she cannot escape this. Her chance flew by with the wind, and it's probably halfway to Hoquiam by now.

Again he smiles, but this isn't the disarming, innocent smile of before.  
_  
Seattle is safer than Phoenix. Seattle is safer than Phoenix. Seattle is safer than Phoenix._

This is a predator's smile, and it's sending a movie montage of newsreel and gritty film trailers through her head. She tries to back away, her breath catching in her throat as she imagines that grin on Ted Bundy and The Preppy Killer.  
_  
If I make it out of this alive_, she promises silently, _Charlie can have an ankle bracelet hooked up._

No one is watching as he moves with inhuman speed, bringing the girl with him into the dark alley. Whatever creatures that were in there – feral cats, foxes, who knew, who cared – make a hasty exit. Their survival instincts are better than the human's. They know that he is top of the food chain and staying is not in their best interests.

She's against the wall before she can react to the sudden movement. But he's gentle - for now, not wanting to spill her blood before he has _appreciated the bouquet_. He will never encounter something like her again, and he intends to savour the moment.

She can't blink, scream, breathe before his body is pressed into hers, and her mind is reeling too fast to realize that every inch of him feels frostbitten against her torso. And somehow, underneath the coolness, there is an ice-hot burn wherever her bare skin brushes against his.

She gulps in air, brown eyes wide as she stares at him, waiting. Waiting for something that doesn't come, and in the space where there should be panic, there are only his eyes, deep and black as onyx, and trained solely on her. Blood rushes to her cheeks once more as she processes the fact that she's trapped beneath him, with no escape.


	2. Chapter 2

**This is coming more quickly than I expected, since we've got a new chapter ready for all of you! I can't tell you what it means that you're still interested, even though it's been nearly six months since a (real) update. :)**

--**  
**  
He's so close to her, able to feel her heat radiating into him, and he lowers his face to her neck, inhaling deeply. His tongue tastes her skin, and it's almost enough to drive him insane. Feeling her move against him slightly, he pulls his face away from her neck, bringing his hands up to brush the hair from her face.

She doesn't know, but there are firsts for everything, and maybe this is how it works. Renee always spoke about men being hunters, and she lets out a shuddering gasp of surprise as his tongue sweeps across her skin, raising goose bumps along the way.

Her breathing is uneven and she squirms beneath him, her fingers clutching tentatively at his waist. When he looks up at her, she thinks she hears something of a growl in the back of his throat, and she can feel her heart begin doubletime under his gaze.

Meanwhile, a cool finger trails down her cheek to her neck, while his other hand bunches in her hair, keeping the skin of her neck exposed. Their faces are close as he lets out a shaky breath, seeing her blush again. Her eyes are wide and it's difficult for him to decipher her expression.

But he doesn't try for very long, and a part of him is glad her mind is silent. Her fear and thoughts as she dies won't distract him and take away from the enjoyment of the kill and taste of her blood. He fully intends to draw this out as long as he can, and appreciate every last drop. His eyes travel back down to her neck, where his hand rests, feeling her pulse hammering away. A shiver ripples through him and he licks his lips, more parched than ever, about to lean down and finally taste her blood.

"Wh—what are you doing?" Her whisper is hoarse, half-lodged in her throat as his finger leaves a burning in its wake that she's isn't sure is her own infernal blushing or him. He doesn't answer her (what a surprise), only leans in closer. She opens her mouth reflexively, breathing him in as she places her lips tentatively against his.

She surprises him again, doing the last thing he ever would have expected.

As her lips meet his, something completely unfamiliar rockets through his body. It isn't something he can understand, and his entire being tenses up – including his brain. He's suddenly at a loss, becoming the seventeen-year-old boy he was before he had been changed. In all his years, he's never had this kind of contact with anyone – neither human nor vampire. In all his years, no one has ever tried to _kiss_ him before he killed them! It was preposterous.

But kissing him she is, and his hand slides down from her neck to her waist, pulling her body even closer to his. Her warmth is addictive.

His lips are cold, but somehow a white-hot heat spreads through her to combat that problem. He seems surprised at first…did he want to be the one to do this? And then he's pulling her closer, gripping her so tightly she can see stars—and the blue bruises sure to spot her hips tomorrow. She quakes in his grip, as his hand slides down her torso—_is this what it feels like to be hunted_, she thinks, shivering. Whether from the cold or from his actions, she isn't sure.

He's running on instinct now, but it's a different kind of instinct than usual, something he would have to analyse later. It's hard to think about that, though, when he's craving to taste her skin again.

Self-discipline is not something he's been practising over the years, and his tongue darts out, trailing over her lips.

When they pull apart, his eyes are burning black and she gazes up at him wide-eyed, trying to decipher his stare. He looks hungry, yes, but the predatory, stomach-twisting, earth-shaking fear is nowhere in the fire that devours them now. Carefully, slowly, as though he's some wounded animal she reaches a hand up to touch his temple. "Oh," comes out in a rush of air, and she closes her eyes tight.

The alley is dark, a dangerous little corner that manages to seem like a whole other world away from the bustling street a few metres away. His brain is still in some kind of funk, the thoughts of the nearby humans becoming only a whisper in his head. A warm hand is still placed on his temple, while his own two are gripping her securely. He feels her fingers rake through his hair softly, and the soft purr that he emits surprises even him and his eyes close for a second. Pleasures of the flesh, even one as innocent as this, aren't things he has ever given much thought to. He's heard it enough in the minds of others, too often directed at him with vulgarity.

He is as virginal as Mary, this blood-drinking monster.

She's thinking of popsicles as his tongue traces over her lips, and she isn't sure when they picked this up again, time seeming to fly past this little inroad, and she sighs against him as their lips part again.

She should think of something clever, something witty to say. Something that belongs tucked into the script of a romantic comedy, but her brain is muddled with thoughts of him, none of which include his name—she doesn't know it, and she's only just realised he doesn't know hers either.

Unless he's been stalking her.

That one is in Charlie's voice, and she brushes it aside easily, though her mind quivers at the thought of something like that. She presses her palm against her mouth, oddly dry, and then—

"Um. Thank you?"

Opening his eyes he looks at her face – truly looks – for the first time. Her eyes are watching him carefully, her face still so close to his, although they have a slightly hazy look to them. They're a warm brown, so human and innocent, and all at once he's angry that she's looking at him like this. A strange ambivalence overtakes him, one part wanting to kiss her and another part wanting to hurt her and ensure those eyes never looked at him so soulfully again.

And then she 's whispering "thank you" to him and his brow furrows, wondering at her thought process. She's clearly naïve to a fault, this girl. Has she no sense of preservation? As inexperienced as he may be in some regards, he still knows a normal girl would be screaming for help by now, not thanking their would-be attacker. He had dragged her into an alleyway against her will!

But then he takes a breath and everything else gets wiped away again. He remembers why they're here in the first place. Her stupidity will be her death – she should have screamed when she had the chance, even if it was only prolonging the inevitable. A little kissing reprieve isn't going to save her.

His thoughts are malicious as he lowers his mouth back to her neck. Both of his hands slide up her torso again, his thumbs running over her breasts (the seventeen year old human boy that has just been resurrected is curious, after all). Again, he tastes her skin, becoming slightly emboldened as she gasps and sucking gently as he touches her in an almost shy way. He wants more of this, he can admit to himself, and again he becomes angry at her for somehow bringing all these foreign emotions alive in him. A low growl rips through him and his teeth graze her skin as his left hand comes back up to tilt her head slightly, preparing her for the killing blow. Surely any woman would bring out the same reactions in him, and this girl was nothing aside from her blood? He could have his cake and eat it too.

Her breathing is ragged, and he isn't pulling away. In fact he's pulling closer, much too close, and she stops breathing in an effort to quell the sudden awareness of everything that she's acquired. It's really not working too well. His silence is making her shake, but the way his tongue traces along her neck is amplifying everything to the nth degree, and soon she finds it's not a question of trying to breathe, but remembering how to.

A low rumbling startles her slightly, her hand fisting in his hair with surprise for a split second, before she releases, her eyes growing ever wider. The cat-like growl that's ripping from his throat while his tongue sweeps across hers should scare her, but it doesn't - she's too busy drowning in absolute new sensations, as his hands travel up her torso and find her breasts. A loud gasp fills the air, and she looks down at him, her face colouring quickly.

Surely this is not how everyone does it.

He can't possibly like her, he hasn't kissed her, and yet she finds herself pushing forward into his icy embrace, letting out a low, soft moan, so quiet it could be a sigh as he touches her. If he'd only wanted to grope at her, surely he wouldn't be so…gentle now. Would he?

When she feels teeth grate across her neck, she lets out a shuddering gasp.

What is he _doing_?

She doesn't care, she realises, and that is certainly no way to keep safe.

But he freezes then, her blood rushing just under his tongue as her pulse hammers away. Shame fills him, all at once familiar and completely new. He's felt guilty about killing before. Too much time to brood and relive the final thoughts he had experienced. He had long ago given up any notion that he was correct in trying to kill only those who deserved it. Playing God was a foolish notion. But he still killed only those dregs of society.

Most of the time.

This girl is innocent; she has to be with reactions like this.

But she's still just a human! This is just playing with his food. It was inconceivable to leave her alive, with blood like this. A waste.

Or would the waste be in killing her now and never having this experience again?

It takes more self-control than he thought he had to let go and step back until his back hits the opposite wall. He turns his head slightly towards a dumpster, the disgusting smell taking the edge off the more delectable one. It's enough to help clear his head slightly.

He's letting her live, for now. This is just postponing the inevitable.

Their eyes meet again, and he feels oddly embarrassed for a moment before he pushes it away. She's just a human, no matter what. That same vestige of politeness from own his human life reappears again, and he speaks.

"My name is Edward Masen, it's a pleasure to meet you."

When he pulls away, she frowns, stabilising herself by clutching to bricks on either side of her body. And then he has the nerve to look as though he hadn't just---_well_, and she blushes again, turning her head from him, leaving her neck in plain view.

Oh, if she only knew. She mumbles out her name, Bella, trying to avoid his eyes, but it's so hard to look away.

"I'm—I—I should—"

She should scream, cry, leave, but she's too busy thinking about other things, like how many different shades of purple Charlie is going to turn in an hour and a half. She's missed her ferry, another one won't leave for two hours, and the sun is beginning to sink low over the Sound.

She should find somewhere to eat. Her stomach growls, and she flushes deeper, moving her hands to effectively cover her stomach, as their eyes meet again.

"I'll say," she mumbles, not meeting his gaze now. He sounds too polite, and it brings a question to mind. Her head snaps up again, "do you do this often, Edward Masen?"

She always did like to combat fear; she's just never been very good at it.

He decides he very much likes her reactions, even the blush that tempts him to bite her there and then. But he's resisted this time, he can hold out a little longer. A smirk spreads across his face as he hears the accusation in her words.

"No, Miss Bella, I assure you I have never done this before." He pauses, allowing himself to be a little bit smug. "You didn't seem to be complaining though." The rank odours in this alley offset her scent now that he's a small distance away from her. It's surprisingly easy to concentrate. _Perhaps I'm becoming acclimatised_, he thinks wryly. _Maybe after a few more kisses I'll be immune.  
_  
He sincerely doubts that. He doesn't really want to become immune to her smell, anyway.

Colour floods into her cheeks again as he calls her Miss, and she looks at him strangely. The last person to use that prefix had been fifty, balding, and holding a Biology book as he'd introduced her to the same set of people who had been in nearly all of her classes already. She'd blushed then too.

She feels ashamed of herself because he's right. She hadn't been complaining, and she hadn't been about to start, either. At least not when she realised that his hold on her had loosened considerably. One of her hands drops to her hip, her fingers tracing over the place she suspects a large bruise will be forming, fully visible by tomorrow.

The growling of her stomach makes him chuckle, his smirk turning into a rarely used crooked grin, which is actually genuine. His previous anger has left him for the moment, but he's hungry himself after this escapade, and is going to have to feed soon if he wants to keep this girl alive a little longer.

"May I escort you to your car?" Knowing what she's driving will make it easier to track her, and suddenly he's curious to know more about her, his inner gentleman slightly ashamed that he had only gotten her name after the event.

He knows it's laughable, being what he is and yet still being so inexperienced in that way. Once he knows he can find her again, he'll be reliving this day over and over in his mind until he sees her again, scrutinising his feelings and her reactions.

He wonders if she prefers his gallant attitude, or his more forward one. Again he wishes to be able to read her mind.

Taking a step forward to be closer to her, he extends his hand to back up his question, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Yes, eternity can be dull for the never dying, so one must get entertainment where they can.

"May you--" she whispers to herself, shaking her head. "You're not a very good rapist, are you?" her voice is a mumble, and when she looks up again, he's grinning at her. It's offsetting, considering his eyes, but still beautiful, much too beautiful.

She hesitates for just a moment, having looked too long into those eyes and noticed the expression. Perhaps she's wrong, and he _is_ a rapist. Quite a good one. He just likes to toy with his victims. Isn't that common?

Her hand reaches for his, and then pulls back, just in case - she probably shouldn't be touching him. The words _quick getaway_ spin through her mind, and she moves to stand next to him, a small nod of assent her only answer as she steps into the gloomy purples of impending twilight.

Her car, she realises, is quite a way away, near the docks, because she'd wanted to walk and explore. She hadn't counted on any unforeseen distractions, and certainly not the kind apt to make her father blue in the face.

"A rapist?" He knows he should probably be offended by that, but considering his original reason for pulling her in there and what he did…he can't really blame her. Even if she was reciprocating. Calling her naïve would be an understatement. He drops his hand when she pulls back, merely raising his eyebrow and trying not to let his amusement show. "I am no rapist. And…" They exit the alley and he steps in front of her, blocking her path and leaning down so that their faces are almost touching. "You kissed me." His breath blows into her face and he pulls back, taking her warm hand in his while she's distracted, smiling once again. The simple touch allows him to feel her pulse hammering away.

For a second, she's frozen, quietly horrified, realising that she will have to make conversation with him. She's never been good at that. She hadn't expected him to hear the rapist comment, either.

"So um. What--well. What prompted...that?"

Today is obviously no exception. Bella Swan does not do small talk.

His voice is husky and her breathing drops an octave as she finally processes what he's told her. She can't decide anymore, slasher movie or romance flick. Maybe it's both.  
_  
You kissed me._

Yes, and to the best of her reasoning, she can't figure out why she wants to again. Her hands staplegun to her sides.

They've begun walking and her question makes him frown slightly. Obviously that is something he can't answer truthfully.

Or can he?

"Would you believe me if I just said that you called to me?" His voice lowers as he thinks again of her scent. It's hard not to when it fills his nose, and sticks to the back of his throat. "I wasn't lying when I said I have never done this before." His tone is slightly contrite, but he isn't going to apologise.

Her car appears to be some distance away, and he soon realises that she's shy. A long lifetime and appetite for books and learning (he may drink human blood, but he prides himself on being more civilised than the few nomads he had met over the years) meant he had plenty of topics to talk about, even if he is by rule an unsociable creature. "What books did you buy?"

He listens to her quiet answers, able to offer his opinions on those he had read. Which was all of them. She seems surprised and he looks slyly at her and smirks. "Did you think I was just a pretty face?"

"I think you're like most boys." Even though she doesn't really know what that means, exactly. She's not sure whether she means it in the Mike Newton sense, or that she's calling him out on a whole bunch of bull.

She wishes she could say the walk to her car is entirely uneventful. Boringly so. They didn't talk, they didn't touch, and he was a perfect gentleman. But she can't. And the knot in the pit of her stomach tells the truth about everything.

Somehow, her hand has found it's way into his palm, and he is grinning—a welcome change from the predator's snarl that made her think of ropes and body bags (and clowns, she will admit with embarrassment, because they scare her, always have with their red hair and white faces) Now she's finding it difficult to look at him, mumbling her answers about books, blushing as she admits that she likes Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters.

"At least I'm not reading trashy romance novels."

She blushes even more furiously, thinking of the Danielle Steele novel with the turquoise cover, and barely dressed couple on the front. Blushes harder realising she's re-enacted the scene in an alleyway, not fifteen minutes ago.

His sly jokes and crooked grins catch her off guard, blushing and stuttering becoming standard response as she wonders what she's gotten herself into. She's embarrassed to admit what she really thinks of him, but even as they approach her truck she can feel the ghost of his sweet breath fanning across her face like peppermint and rain-soaked wind, and she shivers, tucking her head close to her chest.

She makes a brief stop for food; although he pays little attention to what she gets, repulsed in general by human food. But he's unable to stop himself from watching her lips as she eats; his own curving into a smile involuntarily.

They reach her car parked near the docks eventually – a monster of a truck that horrifies him – her face still flushed. He takes note of the registration, committing it to memory, but asks her no leading questions. He knows that he's put her on edge, and he doesn't want her to think that he'll be following her home.

Even if he will be.

He's not saying anything, but he's staring, and she feels heat knot itself in the pit of her stomach as she reaches for the door handle behind her, hand flattening painfully into the thick metal when she processes being beneath him once again.

She's looking at him with uncertainty, biting her lip, and it sends him over the edge. Pressing her against her truck, he brings his lips to hers, this time with no hesitation. Again her scent dances around him, clouding his mind as his tongue twists with hers. Everything about her is so soft and warm, and he can feel his control slip. This time his hands slip under her clothes, gently gliding along the skin of her stomach and up to her bra, cupping her and gasping slightly as he feels her nipples harden under his cool fingers.  
_  
Sex addict?_

The thought floats idly through her mind, and she's happy telekinetic abilities don't actually exist, but she colours anyway. She inhales shakily, his fingers are cool against her skin, which doesn't make sense, but again she's not paying attention. She should be. When his hands travel, hers do too, less confidently, more of an exploration than deliberate movement, fisting together at the place where his jeans and shirtfront come together, and then spreading out, her eyes shut tight as fingernails rake gently across his lower back.  
_  
What is wrong with you?_ Charlie's voice is again in her head.

She pulls away then, eyes snapping open as she sucks in deep breaths, and he finds that he's doing the same, only to be met with a lungful of her scent, which doesn't help him at all. So he removes his hands, smoothing down her clothes and stepping back slightly, again feeling slightly smug at the reactions he gets out of her and at being able to stop in time. His movements are deliberate. Slow. If he's never done this before then he's the fastest learner she's ever met. His fingers moving over her clothes, tugging gently isn't a good idea because it makes her want to pull him close again.

He helps her into her truck - slightly worried at its ability to get her home - watching her every facial twitch and expression carefully. He's trying to read her, and while in some ways she's an open book, in others…he just can't figure her out.

He gets the impression that she's watching him just as closely. So he keeps his mask in place; the last thing he wants to show her is confusion or vulnerability. They're peering at each other, and she thinks he's looking at her like he's trying to find something. Almost frustrated. It figures that she wouldn't have whatever he's looking for.

He leans in to kiss her again, softly, just brushing her lips. His voice is a whisper against her skin. "Safe home, Bella."

She's not sure what just happened, or why she's doing it, but she turns, brushing the corner of her mouth with his just as he pulls away, and she feels her stomach twist.

The irony is, she isn't going home. She has two hours to relive this. Two hours to find a restaurant and a phone book.

She licks her lips, they've dried considerably, uncomfortably, and starts her car in a daze, the low rumble startling her. It sounds like that noise he made with her hand in his hair.

She needs to stop thinking about this. There are trigonometry problems to be done.


	3. Chapter 3

An hour spent in a truck can make anyone stir-crazy, no matter how big the cab may or may not be.

She needs to get out, to stop staring at the endless water. It feels like his scent is filling up the air, and it's intoxicating, making her want to turn around and find him again. That wouldn't be wise. She blinks, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she watches the last sliver of sun sink below the vanishing edge of the Sound.

For all she knew he spent the majority of his time lurking in alleys, pouncing on people. It certainly made sense. She shivers at the thought of what she's just nearly missed becoming, and at the same time, rebukes herself for thinking such a thing. Schizophrenic would be a better description.

And a far more scary one.

She feels dizzy when she drives off of the ferry and onto solid land again, and she's fairly sure that it has nothing to do with the fact that she doesn't have her land legs back again. Pulling over to the side of the road, she wrenches her door open, and sits on the edge of her seat, feet dangling out over the door opening as she sucks in huge breaths of air. The smell of forest fills her senses, and she closes her eyes, serene for a few moments before she gets back into the cab and settles in for the long drive home.

She's thinking too much about this.

And she really is. She's thinking about the reactions that are sure to be garnered, if anyone is to find out about her…deviancy. Slowly her mind reels through familiar faces: Angela, Jessica, Lauren, Mike, Eric, Tyler, Charlie.

It's not hard to imagine that they will find out, either. Forks is small, too small, almost claustrophobia-inducing. Her father knows the Newton family intimately, and it scares her.

_What the hell!_

She still isn't used to driving here, prefers dry roads with little to no road-kill. The only things you have to worry about in Phoenix are snakes, and no one really wants them around everywhere.

Deer are a different story. She flattens against the bench seat of her truck as she feels the impact, imagining antler marks before she realizes that with a behemoth of a vehicle like this, the deer is probably the one who got hurt. She stays inside for a few minutes, shell-shocked, before she opens the door, deciding she should probably check on it.

_No one wants to be responsible for deer-slaughter_, she thinks to herself, clutching her keys tight in her fist as she peers through the trees, slowly venturing in, and not seeing anything that vaguely resembles any sort of wounded Bambi.

--

He watches her go with an unreadable expression, his fingers flexing slightly by his side as the last bit of her heat remaining in them leaves. There's a small whirlwind going on inside him, but he pushes away the more nonsensical, sentimental ones (just a human, it isn't like he's going to get attached to her) and focuses on a more pressing concern. Thirst.

But he doesn't want to lose track of Bella. If she's getting the ferry, he should be able to kill two birds with one stone. He can hold on just a little bit longer – just a little – but it should be enough.

Over the years, he's become a master at moving quickly without being seen. He knows how to make shadows and tall buildings work for him, and his little sixth sense is endlessly useful, despite its many drawbacks.

A true creature of the night.

He arrives around the same time as Bella, watching her as he keeps himself hidden from her view. Once satisfied that he knows which terminal she'll be at, he purchases his own ticket and joins the other foot passengers. Even among all these people, it's easy – too easy - to pick out Bella's scent, so he really has no fear of losing her.

As soon as he's on board the ferry, he makes his way to the deck and takes a deep breath of fresh air before casting his mind about to decide on a meal. It's an old habit now, a pointless exercise in trying to appease his conscience, which is buried in him somewhere, to try and find someone slightly less deserving than the others. He avoids couples and families (they'd be too quick to notice someone missing and cause an uproar, anyway. Plus, he'd never kill a child.), focusing more on solitary people.

Human minds are mundane; the same thoughts and concerns as always rushing into him. But he finds a target easily, the urge to feed after the antics of the afternoon forcing him to choose quickly. It's a man, churning out pessimistic and hateful thoughts. Definitely alone. He's probably not a bad man, but definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time. He's standing in a more isolated area in a shadowy part of the deck.

Edward moves quickly. Afternoon is drawing into evening, and the cool wind is keeping this area mostly deserted. After resisting Bella for so long today, there's no pause to appreciate the scent of this man – it's nothing compared to her, after all. The human has no idea what hit him. A crushing hand is around his mouth and intense pain in his neck as the vampire bites down viciously is all he is aware of. He tries to thrash around, to throw off his attacker, but it's futile.

It only takes seconds for the venom to weave in and cause him to slump; his heart stuttering and vision darkening as his blood is drained from his body. The blood satisfies Edward's thirst, but not the craving. Bella's blood is still whispering for him to take it.

Once the body is drained, and nothing more than dead weight, Edward stays hidden, holding it easily, keeping a close watch on the thoughts of those around him. As soon as the coast is clear and the sun has almost sunk completely, the body is hastily thrown overboard, quickly being pulled under into the dark water.

A tempting urge to drink from another overtakes him, but they've almost arrived at Port Angeles, so he tries to curb his more monstrous nature, attempting to ignore it like he's ignoring that twist in his gut as he thinks about the body he just tossed overboard.

But there are more important matters to focus on.

It's easy to follow her, between the scent and her slow moving truck. And it's far easier to do here, with darkness and trees surrounding them.

He pulls up short when she takes a brief stop, opening the door and breathing deeply.

_What is she doing?_

She doesn't give him too long to contemplate before she starts driving again, and he's deep in thought as he runs easily through the trees. A sense of dread is overtaking him as he realises just what direction they're heading in.

He's the one who startles the deer, causing it to leap in front of her, and for a second he's overcome with horror and fear that she'll be hurt. When he sees that the truck he had previously condemned is intact and so is Bella, he's irritated at himself. Perhaps if she had been hurt and her blood spilled, than this ridiculous game of cat and mouse could end and he could just drink her and be satisfied.

Except that he knows he doesn't want it to end.

The deer is injured, stumbling back off into the darkness of the woods again. Edward doubts it will survive the night, and turns his attention back to Bella, who is sitting wide eyed in her truck. He's expecting her to start driving again, and feels an inexplicable urge to _shake her _when he sees her climb out and cast around, looking for the deer.

_Get back in. Drive away._ His teeth grit as she steps forward, coming in his direction.

_It didn't come this way. Go back._

He can't let her see him here, obviously, and his earlier feelings of dread come back. They're too close to Forks, to the Cullens, and he _can't_ face Carlisle. Their very occasional phone calls were hard enough.

And he can't kill her here or in Forks, if that's where she's going. He knows Carlisle keeps tabs on him - how close he couldn't be certain. Edward had promised that he would remain far enough away so as not to disturb the life he had created for himself. It was all he could promise, after leaving the way he did.

He should have killed Bella in Seattle.

Silently, he moves back, making sure she can't see him. But he stays close to her, probably too close, but he's reluctant to leave her side when she's wandering around a forest at night.

He has to wonder at how she's survived this long.

--

She isn't expecting something like Bambi.

She knows forest birds don't break out into spontaneous song every time a princess walks by, or help nubile young girls to get dressed in the morning before they spend their days working for evil stepmothers with talking mice.

But that doesn't mean she isn't naïve. Incredibly so.

In Phoenix, a night out meant being slightly wary of your surroundings, carrying a bottle of mace in your purse, and watching _Miss Congeniality_ enough times to know how to S-I-N-G. Out here, it's a whole new animal. Literally. Before she left Phoenix, her mother, a newly blushing bride, had filled her in on all manner of the creepy-crawly things living in Forks, not to mention the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere, and tinier than Bella would ever be able to imagine.

All in an effort to deter her from moving in with Charlie.

She knows, vaguely, what could be waiting for her in the woods. Olympic wolves are her biggest worry. She's fairly sure that what she learned in Girl Scouts about bears holds true. And there's nothing to fear from deer. Especially if they're injured.

This entire wild animal train of thought leads her back to the same subject she's been contemplating for the last 45 minutes or so: Edward Masen. She shivers slightly, thinking about the way his eyes had gleamed, just before she'd kissed him. Shutting her eyes doesn't help, she can see the glittering black of his behind her eyelids, and she's sure it will haunt her for a long time.

Twilight is swiftly becoming night, and it's getting harder for her to see, as she gets deeper in the woods. She pauses, thinking she hears a rustling somewhere behind her, and turns around just to see a flash of white leave her line of vision.

_What the hell?_

She pulls her jacket closer, deciding that she's looked long enough. If it was injured it certainly couldn't have gone so far without her finding it.

Things are beginning to get creepy fast, and she's walking faster and faster as the night creeps in on her, getting the distinct feeling that something is watching her, behind her somewhere. She trips over a fallen tree branch, landing on her hands and bruising the heels bad enough to break the skin. It stings more than hurts, and the small amount of blood makes her head spin. She tries not to look at it as she gets up, minutes later, brushing her hands gingerly against her jeans, trying to get the dirt out of the nicks on her skin. Her heart is hammering away in her chest, blood thundering in her ears as she reaches the road, realising that her car is a good hundred feet in front of her.

Well, she's never been good with directions.

--

He mistakenly thought he was becoming more acclimatised to her scent, but that was only when her heart wasn't hammering in fear and making it spike so that it practically took on a whole new form.

And then she cuts herself, and the low growl is out before he can help it. She doesn't seem to hear, stumbling away to get back to her car, but he's already tensed, just ready to pounce and take her blood. For a second he tries to fight it, but it's futile. There's no point trying to resist anymore. She's as good as dead.

In his haze of bloodlust he doesn't hear the thoughts of another until its too late and cold hands are dragging him away. He fights, struggling to get back to the blood that's still filling his nostrils and clouding his senses. He can tell his prey is slowly getting further away, and he's not even aware of the fact that he's growling furiously until he suddenly becomes lethargic and goes limp in the hands that hold him. He's beyond irate. He knows this, knows that he's angry. Yet somehow…he just can't care about it.

"He should be fine now, Jasper." His senses flood back like the volume is turned up, and he's all too aware of two vampires in front of him.

Two golden eyed vampires, well groomed and confident looking. He has not met either of them before, although he knows Carlisle extended his "family" some years ago. The male, Jasper, is glowering at him. His thoughts are for the safety of his mate - he doesn't trust Edward. That is understandable. However, the female is completely different, she's relaxed, with a small smile on her face as she appraises him silently. Edward frowns. She's reciting the alphabet in her head, forwards and backwards.

He's still angry, it's there in the back of his head, but he is still unable to feel it.

This would make him more irate, if it were possible. It was most disconcerting.

"What –"

"Oh, that's just Jasper's power. He doesn't trust you. I'm Alice Cullen. It's nice to finally meet you, Edward."

_Cullen_.

He isn't sure how to respond. If Alice's thoughts are anything to go by, they're both well aware of his power. His gaze switches from one to the other. In Jasper's there is simply a warning, and Edward knows he will not hesitate to rip him apart if he so much as snarls at Alice.

He has no intention of attacking either of them. Not only would it be suicide, but he wouldn't do that to a member of the Cullen family. He may have given up his place in the coven, but he still respects Carlisle. Edward doesn't want to cause him more pain, or disappoint him even more.

"How –"

"And that's my power." By gods, she was annoying him. "I can see the future, and I've seen you for a long time, Edward Masen."

He freezes at that, wanting to ask her exactly _what_ she has seen, and her smile falters slightly. He can see more into her mind now as she speaks.

"I saw that you were following Bella Swan. I saw you kill her." In her head he could see it playing like a film. The way his face twisted when she cut herself, and with no Alice to pull him away, he was on her in a second, ravaging her throat and draining her quickly. In the vision he could see her eyes open wide in shock and pain, not even able to realise who her attacker was, before they dulled and she went limp in his arms.

"Stop." Edward's voice is strained, even Jasper's artificial calm not helping. He doesn't want to see this.

"We had to stop you." Her countenance gives him pause and he looks at her closely. There's a flicker of sadness in there, and knowledge, and again he wonders at everything she could have seen, small thoughts reaching him.

"You know her." Suddenly curiosity overcomes his irritation, and he's actually glad that they stopped him killing Bella.

"She attends the same school as us." Jasper speaks this time, and Edward stands up as Jasper stopped whatever he had been doing. He glances at the blond with a raised eyebrow in a silent question.

"I can sense and manipulate your emotions," is the short reply he gets. Clearly Jasper is a man of few words. Edward can tell he is still distrustful of him and that he doesn't want to be here. But that's fine. He is far more interested in what Alice has to say.

_School_, he had said. They attended school. It must get tediously dull.

"What else have you seen?"

"A lot of things," Alice says, almost wistfully. For a second a golden-eyed Edward crosses through her mind and he sucks in a breath, surprised. But he needs to focus. He needs to know about Bella.

"Things regarding Bella Swan?"

Alice nods, explaining her visions and how individual decisions alter the future. "You very nearly killed her this afternoon – although you don't need me to tell you that. But you were too far away then, we would never have made it in time." Her lips curl up wryly. "She's been quite lucky."

Edward makes a short noise of amusement at that. That human is anything but lucky. She's more trouble than she's worth. "What can you tell me about her?" Bella lives in Forks; that's obvious now, if she attends school with them. He knows where the town is situated, and would be able to find her easily, although he's uncomfortable being so close to the Cullen home.

"What do you intend on doing with her?" _I've seen too many futures regarding the two of you._

"Tell me what you've seen."

She shakes her head, guarding her thoughts and Jasper steps closer, feeling Edward's annoyance. "You should go back to Seattle," he murmurs, his voice holding a threat.

"I want to know what she does."

"Esme still misses you, you know."

That stops him short, makes a small part of him ache. It's the last thing he expected Alice to say. He's always tried not to think about Esme too often, and he had hoped that she had forgotten about him, for her own sake. She loved so much and he knows she took it badly when he left. He never knew how to make her realise that he wasn't worth it, that she should just forget about him.

It's easier to think of Carlisle, to pretend that he resents the man for bringing him into this so-called life in the first place. But he doesn't. He can't. Carlisle's intentions were always pure, and his current family was proof that they could go against their nature, and survive in a more peaceful way.

He just hadn't been strong enough. And now he didn't deserve to be around them. Could Esme still love him like a mother when she knew what he had done all these years? Or had Alice been watching and giving updates?

"I don't want to talk about Esme." They've hit a weak spot and they know it, and he's trying to figure out a way to somehow pull the information he wants from Alice's head. He's had enough of people eluding his power today, and he wants to get back to following Bella.

And he gets lucky as her eyes take on a glazed look and he shares the vision with her. He can see a small room, with a girl sleeping on the bed in the centre of it. She's restless, but still definitely asleep. Rolling over with a sigh, he sees himself at the open window. Not moving, just watching, seemingly unsure of what to do next. He turns back slightly to the window when he hears her voice whisper his name.

Suddenly he's looking back into Alice's tawny eyes, Jasper by her side looking on in concern. He turns away, preparing to leave, determined to find that small room, when Alice breathes out shakily, telling him to wait.

"I won't hunt on your land. I won't break that promise to Carlisle. But I need to go."

And so he runs, hoping by the time he sees her that the cuts on her hands will have been covered up. His promise will be broken otherwise. But Alice has given him good reason not to kill the girl – he's too curious. His mind is filled with thoughts, wondering at her saying his name in her sleep, wondering if he could hear her dreams. If her mind was suddenly open when she slept. Even thoughts of Carlisle and Esme take a backseat, although he suspects he will have to face them soon, if he's going to be in Forks.

Even vampires have some common rules of courtesy.


	4. Chapter 4

When Bella turns back, safe in her boat of a truck, there is nothing peeking between the trees. No snarling wolves or lumbering bears, and certainly nothing that hissed, though she's almost sure she heard something. She shakes slightly, her truck lumbering slowly down the little highway that will take her back to her fishbowl life. She's still a black molly in a world of goldfish, waiting for her scales to turn, longing to be swallowed up in the crowd.

She supposes that's the draw of Seattle.

She gets swallowed up more than most. Charlie is her only family, save for Renee and Phil, her step- dad, who is young enough to be an older cousin and sends her CD's in the mail made by artists she's sure her mother has never heard of. Being without a cell-phone can do amazing things with invisibility. Charlie had wanted to give her one, but like with most other things, she had politely refused. He'd already given her a truck, saving her the embarrassment of having to ride in a police cruiser to school, and really that's one gift that keeps on giving.

She's trying to think of ways to repay him and keeps coming up blank.

Her truck shudders as she reaches the town limits of Forks well past dark—the same truck that has made sure that she can cover the distance in double the time it takes a normal person, though she does have the added perk of never having to worry about a fender-bender. No, this thing will bend a whole lot more than fenders, she's sure, and she checks the gas gauge, her mouth dropping open when she realizes that it is near empty. There are no fumes to run on in Forks; there aren't enough cars to begin with. She's not even entirely sure that there's a stoplight, though she hasn't done enough exploring to be sure. There could be one. Hidden somewhere, you never know.

The idea of walking home in the dark shouldn't scare her at all. She's already been nearly molested in an alleyway, and then again up against her truck in a public place by a complete stranger, and she's wandered into the woods to find a rogue deer, all in the span of one afternoon.

But while she can think of romantic comedies that started out both of those ways, there is nothing good that can come from walking home in the dark. Especially considering that this is Forks, the main population of which is currently busy getting down with their bad selves in the high school gym. If someone screams in the middle of the night, and there's no one around to hear it, do they make a sound?

She manages to roll home with under a quarter tank left; she's sure she can walk to the town gas station tomorrow and pick up a couple of gallons to truck back. One light is on in the house, giving it an eerie haunted expression, which isn't helped by the fact that only just the front is peeking out from between the trees.

Charlie always did like his solitude.

She's not sure what to expect when she walks inside, it's been so long since she's been disciplined by Charlie, or by anyone, for that matter. She takes her time getting out of her truck, shutting the door as quietly as she can, and then wondering who she thinks she's trying to fool.

The headlights on her Chevy are like fog lamps, and he most certainly knows that she's here.

One of the steps creaks and groans as she steps on it, and she lets out a low gasp, nearly losing her balance. She's much too jittery. Edward Masen and his onyx eyes are still lingering in the back of her mind, taunting her.

She wishes she wasn't so easy to read.

There aren't too many ways to spin this into something that won't get her grounded or a bodyguard for the duration of her stay, and she's positive Charlie knows something is up when she shuffles into the kitchen sheepishly, purposely slamming the books she'd purchased down on the table with a little more force than is necessary.

See? She can be productive.

"Bella," he starts, and she can feel a lecture coming. Her muscles twitch, telling her to move now or she'll never hear the end of this. Or she'll give herself up. She doesn't like either option.

"The ferry was late Cha—Dad," she backtracks quickly. She's not supposed to call her parents by their first names to their faces, though she's always thought of them that way. A pair too childish to deserve the title of Mom and Dad. It doesn't help that they refer to each other on a casual basis, either.

"I got something to eat, and hung out in the truck for a while," she explains quickly, her eyes darting everywhere but to his, and she's really banking on the fact that he's rather new to this whole child-rearing thing, and mostly passive, just like she is. It isn't like she's lying. Not really.  
_  
Don't press it, don't press it, please, don't press it._

"And the truck's kind of slow," she adds for good measure, but regrets it as she watches his face fall. His present, it seems, is not up to par.

"I love it, it's a great uh, tugboat, Dad," she smiles at him, not breathing until she sees him nod slightly, and then her breath comes out in one long whoosh of air.

"You should really get a cell phone, Bella. I'd worry about you less."

She frowns at him, shaking her head.

"I'm not going to need it. I could just tell someone in town to pass something along to you, and you'd get the message," she grins, thinking of the Mayberry-like social scene that is Forks.

"It's not Forks I'm worried about," he mutters, and she tries to shake off the shiver that creeps up her spine.

Edward's eyes are in her head again.

She bids Charlie goodnight, grateful he doesn't push her white lies, hoping he believes them and knowing he probably doesn't. Rain has begun to pepper the trees outside, and she pulls the sash of her window down almost all the way, a few stray drops leaking in as the wind blows them her way. She stretches as she peels off her outer layers of clothing, suddenly too warm, and sets her jacket and scarf on the tiny desk chair that sits in front of her computer, before finding a suitably ratty Mariner's shirt and some sweatpants to slip into.

Breath rushes out of her again when she's changed, feeling as though she can finally slump and relax. Renee's email can wait a few more hours. She knows if she were to boot up her grandfather of a computer that she would end up telling Renee things that she doesn't want _anyone_ to know, like the feel of his hands, cool against her flesh, and the fleeting flight-response that had kicked in when he'd grabbed her. She pulls her sweats down a few inches, gazing curiously at her hips, where there are distinct fingerprints, already beginning to turn a mottled purple-green colour.

She'll need all of Sunday to come up with a convincing accident to explain this away. She's just lucky that it's not difficult to believe that she could have been involved in an accident. All manner of them, really. Her hands still sting, but she washes them off, pleased to find they have stopped bleeding now, and are slowly returning to normal.

When she crawls into her bed for the first time, it's like an old friend, and not a strange new place. She's afraid to dream, afraid of the blackness lingering at the back of her mind, afraid she'll wake up screaming and scare Charlie.

Well that's one way to spill the beans, isn't it?

Soon though, she drops off - too soon. Her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ falls to the floor, the spine cracking down the middle as it lands opened on wooden planks, the illustrated face of Heathcliff staring up into the darkness.

Her dreams are odd tonight, only flashes of things from earlier in the day. White teeth, red lips, and a velvet voice that's haunting her; she wants so badly to hear it again. She's in a forest now, the same forest, and yet she knows somehow she's not searching for a deer. There is something else between the trees with her, and she wants nothing more than to find it.

"_Isabella, come here. Over here._" A voice beckons to her, and she finds herself turning, knowing somehow that this is what she's been searching for.

"Edward," comes out so quietly, it's almost a whisper, but it's as clear as day as she rolls over, lost to her dream.

--

He's left the other two vampires behind him, along with the thoughts Alice brought out in him. _So many different futures._  
He had so very nearly gone back to Carlisle, just once, a few years after he originally left. That had been a decision he had made, to return to the "vegetarian" lifestyle, to try again, to stop playing God and try to repent for what he had done.

But that had never quite worked out. A strong scent, violent thoughts, a wince when remembering the difficulty he had adapting to animal blood in the first place….and he made a different decision. A decision to stay as he was, on his own. He hasn't actually seen Carlisle or Esme since he left, although he speaks with Carlisle occasionally.

Yet, he can still never let go fully, proven by his need to stay somewhat close to wherever they are situated.

Shaking his head, he slows his pace as he reaches the perimeter of the town. He comes to an abrupt stop when he realises he's close to the hospital, and decides to take a wide berth around it.

He loses her scent doing that, wasting time doubling back over the roads before picking it up again. There's little life out and about, but he is very careful to remain hidden, this paranoia not helped by the idea of a little black haired vampire watching the consequences of his every decision and then not _telling him what she knew._

A flare of anger and possessiveness comes over him. What is it to them what he does with one little human? He isn't going to involve them or cause them trouble; she's his to do with what he likes.

Bella is home by the time he tracks down her house, already sleeping. He hesitates for a moment, deliberating, before clambering up the tree by her window and prying it open gently. He's silent, ever so careful to make no noise and alert her father to his presence. His thoughts are concerned about his daughter, but Bella has clearly told him nothing. Leaving the window open and the blind up for an easy escape if needed, he turns to look at her, trying to relax as her scent envelopes him again. He's marinating in it, here in her room, and a small shudder of desire runs through him.

And he still can't read her damn mind.

Thankfully, whatever wounds she had gained in the forest had been shallow. He can smell no fresh blood. Like in Alice's vision, she is restless, and he wonders if he is too late, if she has already said his name.

Perhaps he should just leave and this whole thing was pure insanity to begin with. He's just barely begun to turn when he hears it.

"_Edward_."

It sends a shock through him, even stronger than when he had seen the vision. He has proof now that Alice's gift is genuine.

And he certainly isn't going to leave now.

Cautiously, he steps closer to the bed, her delicate aroma wrapping around him like a glove. As he kneels, he spies the book on the ground, giving it a cursory glance before placing it on the small table by her bed. He smirks at her choice – it isn't one of his favourites.

Her breathing is deep and even, her body seeming to finally be beginning to relax, although unfortunately it's also concealed beneath layers. A silly idea of Hollywood and its stereotypical vampires enters into his head – or more specifically, their prey: the scantily clad virgin. His hand reaches out to brush her hair away from her face and neck, before tenderly running his fingers over her cheek, again enjoying the delicious warmth emitting from her.

He's glad that her eyes are closed. He gets the impression that they see too much of him.

Leaning in, he again takes a risk by inhaling deeply, before bringing his lips to her neck, ghosting up over her face and to her lips. But that's all he does before pulling back (it's more fun when she's awake and _responding_ in that way she does), settling himself into a rocking chair in the corner of the room, grinning to himself.

This may be his new favourite night time activity.

--

Sleep cycles are a curious thing.

You can literally fall in and out of sleep; the transitioning between cycles makes you feel as though you're rolling off a cliff, and Bella Swan's body has never been one to cooperate, even in sleep. She rolls one direction and falls another, startling herself into wakefulness for a split second, before she falls back asleep. She wants the voice too badly to wake up.

It doesn't come back.

This time, she's in a room. It's too dark to tell where, but the floor feels like dirt, and a musty smell is rising from the walls, which she backs away from quickly (always stay in the centre, the ceiling probably has asbestos) stepping into a singular sliver of light peeking down through a jagged crack in what appears to be a roof.

Her heart is hammering away. She feels the slow, cold dread churning in her stomach, and again, though she can't see anything, she is perfectly, almost vividly aware that she is not alone in this tiny place.

She sees the white hand first, held out to her like a peace offering, reminding her of earlier in the day. Next come the arms, the same perfect, pale alabaster of before, and then she sees his eyes. Black as night, no depth to them at all, and the Cheshire grin on his face makes her quake as she imagines what comes next, pulling scenes from all manner of horror films (because really, she's not _that_ creative.)

"_Come now, Isabella_."

His hand is reaching for hers and she realises he's going to grab it, whether she offers it or not. He pulls her in close to his body, and she shivers violently against him, every inch slowly cooling to miles below average. His teeth at her neck, hands at her breast, her back, he's rougher than before, and she somehow knows this will not have the same ending.

"Edward?!" Her voice rings out clearer into the tiny bedroom now, louder, almost as though she is awake, and has found the creature sitting sentry in her mother's rocking chair, grinning like an idiot about something.

--

He has never watched a human sleep before – creeping into their bedrooms is not something he does on a regular basis – although he has encountered their dreams many times. Sometimes fantastical, sometimes terrifying, and their vividness surprises him sometimes.  
He can't remember how it was to dream.

Occasionally, he will be taken with a longing for sleep, just to take a break from it all. But of course, that isn't possible. So it's with a sick fascination that he watches Bella toss and turn, still unable to decipher her thoughts but pleased to see their earlier encounter was playing on her mind as much as his.

He wonders if she is regretting giving away her first kiss like that.

If only she knew it is the one decision that had saved her life today. It would have been a lot less complicated if she hadn't.

After that whisper of his name she is silent for a long while, even her tossing and turning stopping for a period. But it's not that long for him to wait before he hears her heart speed up and sees her twist in the bed, shuddering like she's trying to get away from a monster.

"_Edward_?!"

Ah, so she is battling a monster in her dreams. This isn't the quiet breathing of his name like before, and for a split second, he wonders if she's awake. It's harder to tell with her heart pounding away too fast and her breaths quicker. But she tosses again, an arm draped across the bed, her wrist upturned to him like a platter.

He creeps silently over to her side again, gently taking the outstretched hand in one of his as he sits on the side of the bed. Her father is still sleeping peacefully, thankfully; his own dreams are mundane compared to his daughter's.

Edward really isn't too sure what to _do_, and he allows her hand to slip away as she writhes again, whimpering. Is she somehow, subconsciously, aware of his presence?

No, that's absurd. This is just her human brain, working through the events of the day.

Once again he brushes the hair out of her face, exposing her neck and causing another pool of venom in his mouth. But he's confident, in control. Easier all the time; so long as he keeps well fed and she doesn't fall down again.

"Shhh, Bella." He strokes her cheek absently, and takes her hand in his once more, holding on tighter to it this time, like he's providing her with an anchor. He hums softly, just something that comes to him in the moment.

He's feeling a little foolish now, but he doesn't stop, and he glances out the window for a second, gauging the time.

--

This time, the eyes are different. Softer, a different colour, glittering at her almost mirthfully in her sleep-induced haste, and her heart slows as her dream self reaches out to touch them, marvelling at the odd colour of them, the beauty. These dreams shift her closer to wakefulness as dawn begins to approach, and she turns, something cool against her heated skin. It feels nice, soothing, and she presses her cheek into whatever it is, supposing as she is half-asleep that it's Charlie.

Did she scream?

She can feel more than hear the humming, a faint sort of vibration off in front of her somewhere, and in sleep, she believes it to be Renee.  
Some people can do a lot in their sleep, and Isabella Swan is one of those people. Thinking of Renee makes Phoenix appear in her mind. Warm, and brown, and there. A single tear rolls down her cheek, and she opens her eyes, so very sure that what she's been dreaming is absolutely true. But through her lashes, she doesn't make out the form of her mother at all, and she shudders slightly, as the same velvet voice that's been following her in dream says her name again. It feels closer.  
_  
Edward_?

She's sure it must be a dream, and she shuts her eyes again, hoping to keep it in place as long as possible. Her limbs are sluggish, and there's something moving over, her hair, her skin, cool and smooth, and she turns into the feeling, letting a soft sigh escape her as the nightmares finally recede.

"_Shh, Bella._"

"Charlie, no." Her voice is quiet again, no longer alarmed, and one of her hands fists in her comforter, pulling and pushing it at the same time, shifting the too-large shirt across her torso as fingers of light begin to shine through her window, a grey dawn.

Bella is a creature of habit and utter organisation. There's no other way she could have survived growing up with Renee. So when she wakes the next morning, rats nests in her hair, and morning on her breath, she notices immediately that several things are not where she left them.

And her window is wide open.

She doesn't recall the dream with Edward Masen immediately, but when she does, her heart begins to beat faster, before slowing down as she realises there's no way he could have followed her. No way he would have wanted to. She isn't that memorable, she tells herself. And there's no way he could have gotten into the house and past Charlie, her Police Chief dad.

He'd be on the porch with a loaded shotgun if she let him.


	5. Chapter 5

When she opens her eyes for that split second, he freezes, afraid to move and hoping she's not really awake.

Thankfully, she quickly closes them again and falls back into slumber, mumbling her father's name. He smiles without realising it, his hands running over her face and her hair.

He stays longer than he should; until the sun is too high in the sky and Bella's father is long since gone, fishing on his mind. She's stirring when he finally scurries out the window and into the shadows of the trees. It's overcast and rainy. He imagines overcast and rainy is the norm for Forks, if this is where Carlisle has chosen to live.

And then, he's at a loss of what to do. The night of sitting in her room and breathing in her scent has made him thirsty again, but he doesn't even contemplate hunting here. No doubt that decision would bring Alice and Jasper back to stop him.

The thought of hunting animals doesn't even cross his mind, even if it means he can stay close and quench his thirst.

He's too restless to stay hidden in the woods all day, and unwilling to leave Bella and Forks for the moment. Exploring the town seems like a good solution. If he knows where the Cullens are, they should be easier to avoid. It doesn't take him long to memorise the layout of the place – Forks is small – although he doesn't find the Cullen home, so he guesses they're slightly further out from the town.

He doesn't go looking, unwilling to run the risk of running into any of them. For that reason, he again steers clear of the hospital.

A few hours later, Edward is bored, standing on the minuscule main street pretending to be interested in a bus timetable. The town is quiet enough on this dreary weekend, most everyone who passes by glancing at him with curiosity. More than once, he catches the thoughts of _looks like one of the Cullens_, making him tense and irritable.  
_  
--with Jessica. Why couldn't Bella go? What was so important in Seattle that she just _had_ to go yesterday?_

These thoughts (which have an annoying whine to them) make his head snap up, turning around so sharply he startles a mother walking past, pushing her child along in a buggy. Edward ignores the pointed glare from the woman, desperately trying to find this person thinking about Bella. Surely there is only one Bella who lives in Forks who had been to Seattle yesterday?  
_  
I bet she would have looked really pretty in a dress. _Bella's face appears in the boy's head, picturing her in too revealing clothes. Edward stiffens, and when he finally sees his target, a growl escapes him.

It's a boy moving slowly towards him, blond hair spiked up into a mess that he probably thought looked good. Under his arm is a package, and his expression is one of deep thought.  
_  
Jessica looked pretty too, I suppose_ – another brunette girl with wild curly hair appears in his head, along with memories of kissing her – _I love Bella's lips, I wonder what it'd be like to kiss them.  
_  
The boy passes him, fantasies playing through his head of kissing Bella, touching Bella, and Edward snarls, louder than he means to, but he's really unable to keep it in. Just as the blond boy turns around trying to place the sound, Edward's head snaps back to the sign in front of him, his face as composed as he can possibly make it. Thankfully, the boy dismisses him almost immediately – _weird guy at the bus stop_ – and keeps walking. When he reaches the end of the street, Edward begins following.

The human's thoughts remain the same, infuriating Edward more and more, yet like the masochist he is, he continues to tail him until he reaches a shop called Newton's Outfitters and enters. The boy's thoughts then drift to work, his parents, and the unfairness of having to work the day after the dance. Not five minutes later, a woman rushes out, calling out her goodbyes to the boy – her son.

So he works here.

Edward hesitates outside a moment longer, his thoughts growing darker. This boy is lucky. If he hadn't made that promise to refrain from hunting in Forks, he'd have been dead the second he thought about kissing Bella. Nobody but he would be kissing Bella. The mere thought of this silly boy touching her infuriates him.

He needs to know who this boy is. He needs to ensure that these thoughts of Bella stay in his head – he's sure it's just a fantasy. It _has_ to be.

A smile plays on his lips as he enters the shop.

It doesn't take long for the boy to come over to him, introducing himself – Mike – and asking if he needs help with anything; despite his hesitant thoughts. He's on edge. Edward could have laughed at them.

"Fishing," he says with a straight face, "I intend to go fishing."

The blond boy stares at him – _why does he say that like it's some kind of private joke?_ – "Uh, sure." He then moves over to the fishing section, talking about rods and baits.

Edward half listens; wondering how to warn this idiot boy away from Bella without giving away the fact that he can read his mind.

_He must be related to Doctor Cullen, although his eyes are freakier. He looks just like one of them._

He takes his chance, voice casual but compelling, leaving no room for doubt as he twists the truth to suit his purposes. "I'm just visiting some family, perhaps you know Carlisle Cullen?"

"Sure, everyone knows the Cullens." Through Mike's mind, Edward sees four vampires sitting at a table in a cafeteria. _That Rosalie is hot, but man is she scary._ He goes back to talking about fishing equipment, anxious for the odd stranger to make his purchases and leave. Edward nods at whatever he says, again not paying attention to what he was picking out. As they make their way back to the checkout, he speaks again.

"I was also visiting a girl – do you know Bella Swan?"

Mike drops the goods onto the counter with a loud thud, suddenly horrified at the thought of this attractive stranger having anything to do with Bella. _Is he why she wouldn't go to the dance with me?_

For his part, Edward knows this is reckless, knows this boy will probably tell her about this conversation but he just can't seem to care about those repercussions. He wants it clear that Bella is off limits. But it isn't like he's jealous that this moron seems to know her, seems to actually be friends with her and thinks he has a chance of being something more.

Nothing like that.

"We were in Seattle yesterday together, and had such a good time that I had to see her again as soon as possible. It is convenient that she lives so close to my family." The gloating edge in his voice isn't lost on Mike, but he's trying to reign in his sudden anger and remain polite to the paying customer. His voice is strained.

"Yeah, I go to school with Bella. We're…we're _close_." He tries to emphasise the word _close_ and Edward wants to laugh in his face. His fantasies have no base in reality, he's sure.

"Mike…Newton, correct?"

Like a puppy seeing its master after a long day, Mike brightens up. "She mentioned me?" _She was probably trying to let this guy down easy before she thought she could go out with me. Bella's too nice – she wouldn't want to hurt his feelings_.

At that thought, Edward is slightly torn, wanting to question this boy about every single thing he knows about Bella. But he resists that urge (along with the urge to punch him for even daring to ask her out), knowing it would be far more fun for him to find all those things out himself.

And he's going to try to ruin Mike Newton's opinion of Bella, anyway.

He leans in over the counter, eyes narrowing. "Just in passing, we had much more interesting topics to discuss, much more pleasurable things to do." He thinks quickly, trying to figure out something that might be plausible for Bella to say. "You make her uncomfortable, and she didn't want to hurt your feelings by telling you about us, hoping you would take the hint and leave her alone."

Mike's face clouds in anger, stronger than the slight fear he feels at Edward's expression. But Edward isn't quite done, his voice lowering and dark eyes glaring holes into the human.

"I have no such worries about your feelings. I am _telling_ you to leave her alone, or you'll regret it. She's mine."

With that, Edward straightens up, and turns to leave. Mike's thoughts have ground to a halt, his own survival instinct telling him that Edward is truly dangerous and his words aren't to be taken lightly. But Edward is surprised at the boy's courage - fuelled by his anger, no doubt - as he manages to splutter out something before he reaches the door.

"She isn't your property! And hey, it isn't my fault if you think I'm a threat."

"You're no threat, boy," Edward hisses, glancing back to glare at him again. "Don't flatter yourself."

With that, Edward leaves the shop, his stack of fishing equipment still sitting on the counter in front of a red faced Mike Newton, who is staring after him with absolute hatred.

--

The sun is high when Bella finally makes it downstairs, and Charlie is nowhere to be seen. A note on the refrigerator tells her that he has gone fishing with Billy Black, and will be back late in the afternoon. She smiles to herself, thinking of how she's looking forward to a day on her own, tattered copy of Wuthering Heights in hand, and briefly she considers making plans with Angela, the quiet girl from her Biology class.

She makes a quiet, simple breakfast; coming up with things to cook for Charlie has left her wishing for microwaveable burritos and cereal without the milk, and she has a strange craving for corn dogs—a blush rushes over her skin as she remembers the way that Edward had stared at her while she ate. His eyes, everything about him, was entirely disconcerting, and yet, somehow completely compelling.

She shakes her head back and forth slowly in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts involving Edward Masen. She won't ever see him again; he doesn't even have her last name. A small part of her is kicking herself for telling him the name that everyone used, and not going by Isabella. Though that might have something to do with the out-of-place chivalry that he'd displayed at odd intervals during their _meeting_ the day before.

There's a knock at the kitchen door, and she feels her heart speed up, an effect of her daydreaming, she's sure. She can still feel his cool lips ghosting over her own, and she suppresses a shudder as she moves to open the door. She can feel her heart sink back into her chest when she sees who is actually there—a good ten inches too short for her to even entertain the notion that it might be Edward.  
_  
He doesn't even know where you live, Bella. He's a good four hours away on the other side of a large body of w--_

"Hi, Bella!" Jessica's voice is like the slow creak of nails against a chalkboard, so happy that it makes Bella want to cringe slightly. She hadn't been aware that Jessica knew where she lived, but then she realises all of the teenagers in town (all three hundred of them) are probably perfectly aware of the whereabouts of the town police chief.

"Did you have fun in Seattle? We missed you at the dance. Mike asked about you a couple of times and I just told him—"

She's trying to listen, attempting to make her best effort at being a girlfriend, something she's never really been too good at before now, but Jess' voice fades into the background as soon as she hears the word _Seattle_.

It's not difficult to create the illusion of conversation with Jessica Stanley. Smile, nod and murmur in the correct places, and your mind could be a million miles away and she'd never know it. This comes in incredibly handy sometimes.  
_  
Shh, Bella._

His voice lingers in her ears like the last of a bottle of wine, and she's sure, _so_ sure that she saw him in more than just her dreams, though none of it makes sense. Then again, nothing about meeting him had.  
_  
Bella._  
_  
Bella._  
_  
Bella._

"Bella! Whoa did you not eat or something? You look sick. You should probably take something for that. Anyway, I was thinking of going to see Mike. He's working today, you know."

No, she did not know. It doesn't surprise her that Jess does, and as she listens to her friend babble on about corsages and dresses, she nods along, wanting to be supportive. Girls do everything together, don't they?

They decide on Jessica's car--_No offence Bella, but that thing's kind of an eyesore_--and Bella doesn't protest. A faster car means less time having to hear about how fantastic Mike Newton is. Trust her; she's all too aware of his winning attributes. She sighs as they pull up in front of his parents' store. Jessica may have the best intentions, but Bella is all too certain that this will end badly. She still hasn't told Jess that he'd asked her first.

Even though it went against the rules.

She keeps her head down as they enter, and she can practically feel Jessica effervesce as she—presumably—finds Mike.

Camping has never really been her thing, and she doesn't know what to look at, so she's looking everywhere, and not paying much attention to the conversation that Jess and Mike are having, except to notice that she feels a pair of eyes burning into her back, which makes no sense, because Mike is in front of her.

"…another Cullen, I guess. So Bella, you never told me what was in Seattle. Did you get lost or something? You were gone all day."

Something like that.

Her face burns, and Mike is looking at her both fiercely and as though he's uncomfortable about something while she manages to mumble out, "Port Angeles didn't have a decent bookstore."

--

He's walked about three metres away from Newton's Outfitters when he hears a car pull to a stop behind him. He pays it no mind until he hears that name again running through someone's mind, this time a girl.  
_  
Bella seems distracted. I bet she's jealous that Mike wanted to go with me to the dance._

In her mind, he sees the girl glance sideways, taking in Bella's profile.  
_  
She really isn't that pretty. I don't see why they all made such a fuss over her._

Repressing his growl at the girl's petty thoughts, Edward quickly skirts to the side of the building, out of sight. There's a stack of crates he can skulk behind. He can surmise that neither of the girls saw him, and that they're heading into the shop he just vacated.

A smirk plays on his lips as he wonders what Mike Newton will say to Bella. His thoughts are amusing as he catches sight of the two girls. He's delighted to see Bella – deciding to ignore Edward and his warning for the moment. He's less happy to see Jessica, but manages to be graceful when greeting her.

From his position, Edward can hear every word spoken and see exactly what Jessica and Mike see. Bella looks uncomfortable.

"Hi, Mike! I had so much fun last night!" Jessica is exuberant, and trying to rub it in Bella's face a little bit. Edward has to laugh – it is more than obvious that Bella doesn't care.

Mike's attention is mainly on Bella, much to Jessica's irritation, and Edward quickly grows tired of the childishness of the two of them. Through Mike's eyes, he watches Bella closely, doing what he can to ignore the thoughts he is having about her.

They talk a little about the dance, before Mike brings up Bella's visit to Seattle, trying to see if she will mention Edward willingly. She doesn't, much to Mike's annoyance.  
_  
Maybe that guy was just making it all up. He was crazy._

"There was a weird guy just in here Bella, says he was in Seattle with you yesterday." There's an accusing edge to Mike's voice, and Jessica's eyes widen, her imagination immediately in overdrive as she imagines everything from Bella meeting up with someone for a romantic liaison, to going to Seattle for an abortion.

Bella freezes like a deer in headlights, and Mike continues, still miffed. "Yeah, really weird. He had freaky eyes and his hair was weird...a red-browny colour. Told me to stay away from you." Mike folds his arms and looks askance at Bella.

Outside leaning against the wall, Edward snorts in amusement. This boy needs a thesaurus. He's an idiot.

But then he tenses, catching sight of Bella's face, and wonders how she will react.

Perhaps threatening Mike Newton hadn't been a good idea after all.

--

She's trying to look as casual as possible. The reality is, she met several people in Seattle the day before. Only one of them was male, of course, but Mike doesn't need to know that. Her heart speeds up as she hears him describe Edward perfectly—a bit disdainfully?—and she disregards the voice in her head that tells her this is more than a little bit creepy.  
_  
You didn't tell him your last name or where you lived. How did he find you?_

Another part of her though, says that doesn't matter. This is of course the part of her that's remembering the way she'd shivered and he'd gasped against her as they'd explored one another. Her face flushes, and she hopes that Mike isn't as good at reading faces as Edward had seemed to be.

That will only lead to utter disaster.

"Uh, I might have. I don't know Mike; a lot of people were friendly. What else did he say?"

Her voice is slightly strained as she asks; she's trying to appear nonchalant but the fact that he'd found her the next day and was asking people about her makes her heart thunder. She remembers how his voice had sounded as he'd told her that she called to him.

She's beginning to think that he calls to her, too.

Mike looks flustered, and that only spurs her curiosity and her dread on. Jessica has remained silent thus far, and Bella muses she's probably using all of her willpower not to say anything—she's too busy logging this conversation away for an over dramatised retelling at the lunch table the next day.

He still doesn't say anything, and he seems to be conflicted about his choice. Bella hangs her head, glancing up at him through her lashes and then quickly averting her gaze. She can't flirt; she knows that much. Her knowledge of the subject extends to John Hughes movies and Disney cartoons. It doesn't seem like it would take a lot though, with Mike.

"It was that bad, huh?" She looks up, wan smile crossing her lips. It could have been bad, she realises. It could have been _very_ bad, and somehow, even though everything about this screams at her, she can't help the defeated feeling that has slunk into her stomach, settling there like an immovable stone.

"No, Bella! It wasn't bad. I mean, it's you; how could it be bad?"

He sounds like he's trying to repair a broken toy, and she tries hard not to smile at him, because that will probably only make Jessica upset.

She's elbowing him and hissing, "Mike!" under her breath, pressing her side closer to his, trying to be possessive without actually overtly showing it, and Bella rolls her eyes slightly.

"Bella, I'll make sure to give you a copy of our pictures when they come in. I mean, I don't want you to feel like you missed anything by being in Seattle. I'll make sure I tell Angela and Lauren, too." She adds the last part like an afterthought, and Bella nods.

"Of course. You guys probably looked really cute together."

Again, Jessica diverts the conversation back to herself, although her mind is still wondering at what Mike had said. Outside, no one notices a vampire slink away, having realised there will be nothing more to interest him in this conversation.

He has more important matters to attend to now.


	6. Chapter 6

The hospital puts him on edge, and he wonders – not for the first time – how Carlisle can stand it. Not even just the blood, but also the strong chemicals, the sickness, the death…it's slightly overwhelming.

Carlisle is expecting him. Edward has no doubt that Alice is useful to have around. He can gather nothing from Carlisle's thoughts – he hasn't lost the knack of being able to control his mind when around Edward.

He looks the same, of course, and suddenly Edward feels like he's gone back in time eighty years.

They walk to Carlisle's office, the silence heavy with a thousand things unsaid. It is only when they're inside away from curious humans that Carlisle looks him in the eye.  
_  
It's good to see you again, Edward.  
_  
He lowers his gaze, only finding sincerity in every fibre of Carlisle's being. It's always been like this. Edward had only managed a decade of Carlisle's style of life _because_ of that sincerity. His intentions were always pure, and he believed so strongly that turning away from him had seemed like blasphemy.

But he _had_ turned away in the end, unable to deny himself the human blood he craved any longer. The idea of trying to survive on just animal blood for eternity had seemed impossible. He had struggled for ten years and it became no easier – it just became more of a battle each day. Even now, the idea was appalling. Carlisle's integrity just became something else to infuriate him, while Esme's soothing words fell on ears that just didn't want to hear.

Edward is not completely heartless – he felt guilty for leaving, and he still feels guilty now. The fact that Carlisle had managed to build a family on his beliefs and live peacefully just merely proved to Edward his own weakness and failings to himself. He's a murderer, unable to stem his desires enough, and as such is damned. He doesn't deserve a peaceful life, and he had lost his chance when he had left Carlisle.

Carlisle takes a seat behind a desk, gesturing at Edward to take one himself.

There are a lot of things he wants to say to Carlisle. He wants to tell him that he isn't angry at him for changing him anymore – that his anger had never really been directed at Carlisle. Self-loathing exposed itself in many ways. He wants to try and explain why he _had_ never come back, how he so nearly had at one point. He wants to know about his current family – those who a little voice in his head termed _replacements_.

But he can't. It has been too long, and he has no intention of changing his ways.

It's pointless. In Edward's case, there is no hope.

So he simply gets straight to the point of his visit.

"I'm sure Alice already told you everything?"

Carlisle nods, his face tensing slightly. "Bella Swan. We've been concerned."

"I'm not going to hurt her."

_Don't lie, Edward_. There is a note of authority in his voice, one Edward has rarely heard before. _Emmett and Jasper would have run you out of town already if I hadn't asked them not to. They think I'm a fool to trust you._

"They aren't wrong in that opinion," Edward murmurs. "I don't deserve your trust."

Carlisle sighs. "You've always been determined to think ill of yourself. I would like to talk to you more, but I'm afraid my time is limited right now, so I'll be blunt. Why are you stalking Bella Swan?"

Edward is slightly indignant. "I'm not –"

"Edward," Carlisle's voice is patient. "Alice has been keeping a close eye on you – we know you haven't hunted anywhere near Forks. We need to be careful. You've been watching her sleep at night, tailing her most days, and she's unaware of it. There is no other word for it, and while Alice can see you doing this, she can't see _why_. Do you intend on staying here long term?"

He hesitates. "I honestly…don't know. I don't really know how to…" Edward falters for a second, and Carlisle is surprised to see a flicker of confusion cross his face before a mask replaces it. "I just have to be around her, Carlisle."  
_  
This isn't the traditional way of courting a girl, Edward._

"I'm not _courting_ her," he snaps, and Carlisle's eyes narrow slightly.  
_  
Then tell me what you're doing, because none of us can figure it out._

Edward glances away from him again, feeling like a child being reprimanded. Unable to sit still, he stands and begins pacing, running his hand through his hair. "Can you please just let me do this? I'm not going to hunt around Forks, I promise you."

"And what of Bella Swan? Even if you aren't going to drink her, it isn't healthy what you're doing, for either of you. Why are you so fascinated with her?"

"…I can't read her mind." Truthfully, Edward doesn't want to talk about Bella with Carlisle or anyone else. It seems too private. But a small part of him hopes that Carlisle can shed some light on her private mind, and that hopefully this little nugget of information will be enough to satisfy his curiosity.

And Carlisle _is_ surprised to hear that. _Have you ever encountered anyone else who was closed to you?  
_  
A quick reply in the negative; and Carlisle's thoughts reveal that he can be of no help in this situation.

Edward is disappointed, but it was worth a try.

"I need to figure out why."

"You _want_ to figure out why."

A shrug and silence before Carlisle sighs. _This isn't how I imagined seeing you again, if you ever decided to come back. Although I suppose you haven't actually come back. It seems like this is something you need to do._

Edward nods, and Carlisle glances at the clock, realising he is needed elsewhere.

"Thank you, Carlisle."

It's genuine.__

You should visit Esme. She'd love to see you again. We still keep a piano in the house, you know.

He's at the door when Carlisle thinks this, and he freezes, conflicting emotions running through him.

"I'll think about it," is the quiet reply before he leaves quickly, holding his breath as he wanders down meandering corridors. He's still deep in thought when he reaches the reception area, slowing down as he makes his way towards the doors.

--

She thought that being the new kid got old after a few days, especially if you were a particularly mediocre new kid who was shy on top of it all. She's wrong. In Forks, there seems to be an endless fascination with her, one that leaves her to eat lunches in libraries and cramped toilet stalls, smiling to herself when she sees Lauren Mallory's name scratched into one of the doors, making quiet conversation with Angela during their walks to and from Biology and English.

The mysterious person who had threatened Mike Newton on her behalf probably had a lot to do with the continued attention.

Living in a town drastically smaller than the old place you lived in—and probably even your high school—does not guarantee that you will fit in. Sometimes, it's lonelier than ever.

She'd passively encouraged the pairing of Jessica Stanley and Mike Newton—the blonde boy who _still_ looked at her sometimes like he thought he should be the one to carry her books all twenty feet from the cafeteria to building four, telling herself it would be one less admirer to worry about, adding silently that it opened a spot for someone new.

Her heart still hammers up into her throat when she thinks about that day, weeks ago now.

She's analysed it more times than she would like to admit, going over each touch, every word in her head, trying to imprint the images in her brain even more permanently. She's still unable to decide if he was telling the truth—_I assure you I have never done this before_—she doesn't have much at all to compare it to, though she's gotten good at replaying the scene in her head.

Charlie is either ignorant of her odd moods, or chooses not to say anything to her about them, and she can't decide whether or not this is a good thing. If he asked about Edward, she wouldn't say anything to him - she knows that for sure. She can barely say anything to _herself_ let alone discuss him with other people. And how far gone did it sound if a person was slowly beginning to obsess over something that had happened one month before, one time.

There are conflicting voices in her head. One of them tells her that this is okay, that it's like having a celebrity crush, perfectly harmless. The other voice is saying that this is nothing like a celebrity crush, because when she had one of those, the celebrity of her choosing generally didn't push her up against a wall and run his hands all over her.

She hasn't told anyone else either. She doesn't want to make him less real than he is, and invariably she will be laughed at. Lauren Mallory will be the head of the Laughter Committee, and she can imagine the things that will come out of that girl's mouth.

She blinks her eyes, trying to clear her head, and adjusting the bag slung over her shoulder as she approaches the hospital. Charlie was out fishing with Billy, his usual weekend ritual, and she had decided earlier that week that familiarising herself with the staff and general layout of the local hospital might be a good idea, as she was sure that she would end up there. Most likely sooner rather than later.

The size of it amazes her. It's so small, just like everything else in Forks. She'd be surprised if there was more than one bed inside. People here must never get the flu. She's busy paying attention to all of the surroundings except for the ones directly in front of her, and as the sliding doors open, the toe of her sneaker catches on the lip jutting up out of the floor.

Bella's eyes shut tight, waiting for the inevitable crash, and given her track record the probable crunch of cartilage, and her stomach swoops into her throat for a minute when she realizes that she hasn't yet hit the ground.

She hit _something_ though. And whatever it was is cool, and hard. She thinks for a moment the door might have caught her fall, and she had been closer than she'd originally thought.

But then, whatever it is that's caught her begins to move, and she spasms, panicked and trying to get away as visions of nonsensical woodland creatures swim in her mind.

Until she turns her head, and sees exactly who has caught her. And then she stops moving completely.

Even her mind is working in fragmented sentences and shallow breathing, her heart thumping so loudly in her ears that she can barely hear what he's saying to her as his hands slide up over her waist, and to her shoulders. She can only nod and blink up at him, her mouth halfway open in surprise.

"Bella. It's _very_ good to see you again."

Her heart flutters as Edward smiles at her, and she flushes slightly, still nodding at him, too shocked to do anything.

He steps back and gives her a little space, wanting to judge her reaction. "How have you been?" His polite enquiry is slightly ruined by his eyes running over her before he meets her gaze again.

"I've--well. I've been very well." The way he speaks throws her off guard, and she straightens up slightly, her eyes still locked with his.

"I'm very glad to hear that," he replies formally when she says she's been well. Like he doesn't already know.

"You're not sick, are you?" she asks, peering through the glass doors she has yet to make it through. He wants to laugh, and this time the mirth shows in his voice.

"Thank you for your concern, but I am quite healthy. I was merely visiting someone." Then he wonders just what she is doing at the hospital. He had last seen her a few hours ago. One thing he noticed about Bella was her clumsiness, but she had been fine earlier.

"Um, that's nice," she nods, peering at him. Something seems different than the last time she saw him, but she can't quite place it. Something about his face. She takes a couple of steps closer, though there's still a slight distance between them, and she continues to study his face. The unnatural pale, even for somewhere like Washington, the way he looks like he hasn't slept in ages. That must have been it.

His eyes rake over her body again, and he tenses as he breathes deeply, taking in her scent, which still tends to cloud his brain sometimes. But no, definitely no open wounds. Relaxing, he fires a grin at her again.

"You look tired," she murmurs, and then glances up. "I suppose you had a lot of catching up to do. Forks is kind of out of the way," her mouth curves into a soft smile as she thinks that that is something of an understatement.

His smile falters slightly, and he shrugs. "I suppose you could say I don't sleep well."

She's looking at him like she's trying to figure something out, and he briefly wonders at how she doesn't seem to be afraid of him at all, not even on the subconscious levels of most humans.

"The people I'm visiting, they prefer out of the way places such as Forks. They're also partial to the rain," Edward says as his smirk returns.

The idea that he may have multiple personalities has crossed her mind more than once, she must admit, and it flits through again when he opens his mouth and begins speaking to her like he's straight out of a Dickens novel.

"You look completely flawless yourself. What brings you to the hospital? You aren't hurt at all, are you?"

This time she notices the way his eyes linger on certain places on her body, and she wraps her arms around herself self-consciously, glancing to the ground as she feels what is sure to be a full-body blush heat up her face.

His comment about how flawless she is doesn't help matters. Bella decides that aside from looking like he hasn't had a nap in about three days, he looks pretty flawless too.

"Not yet," her mouth curves up into a wry smile. "It's only a matter of time. I thought I should probably see what I'm working with. So I know what my disaster limits are," she adds, glancing at him again.

Bella's words amuse him, and he smiles when she does. "So you intend on spending a lot of time in the emergency room?"

His eyes. It's his eyes that are different. Lighter than the last time, though she supposes that since they were in a dark alleyway she could merely be seeing a trick of the light.

"I don't _intend_ to," the word feels strange in her mouth, as though it isn't she who's just said it, but someone who belongs in a corset and tight boots. "Intend" reminds her of old movies and marriage, and she blinks up at him, having learned in their brief meeting that if she needs to forget anything, one look at him, and it would be gone, replaced with everything that defines him. "It's just a fact of my life. Give me a flat surface, and I will find something to trip over or otherwise maul myself with."

His lips curl at her words. Her tendency for falling is impossible not to notice, and its frequency borders on remarkable. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall." As if to emphasize his point, his other hand finds her waist; and he pulls her tightly to him, bringing his lips to her neck.

She shivers. "I could wait then, I suppose?"

Some stray thoughts and his name in someone's mind catch his attention. Turning his head suddenly, he sees Carlisle through the glass, watching him carefully. He's concerned, mainly for Bella's sake. Understandable perhaps, but Edward doesn't appreciate his presence, and is pleased to see that Bella may be reconsidering her visit.

So he leans further into her, his other hand coming to rest on her waist, a thumb moving in circles on the fabric. The alarm in Carlisle's mind grows more profound. He speaks softly against her ear, lips ghosting along her skin.

"Do you want to go somewhere?"

Edward's breath is hot against her ear, making her breathing spike with one whisper, and Bella knows there's no way she can refuse him. Her entire body leans towards his in an approximation of falling, anticipating what will come next.

"Where?"

Carlisle is unable to conceal the shock of his thoughts. Clearly, hearing through Alice, and actually seeing it front of his eyes is a completely different thing. Edward smiles against her skin, enjoying the scent, the warmth, everything. His voice is husky.

"I'm just a visitor here. Is there anywhere you can recommend? Or would you like me to be more traditional and take you out to dinner?" His tongue tastes her skin then, lips slowly travelling up her jaw as his hands also make their way upward, stopping just short of her breasts. Just as he is about to kiss her properly, a voice interrupts them. He let out a low growl, one he knows Carlisle would hear.

She's trying to remember the name of restaurants in town, but it's hard when she's having trouble with her own. Her head falls forward, nose pressing into his collar, the chill of his body passing into her own, and her entire body tenses up when she feels his mouth against her skin.

"Uh, Pacific Pizza, and there's an Elk Lodge if you're really interested. They're kind of all on the same--" her voice cuts off when his lips and hands begin to travel simultaneously, and she focuses on breathing in and out, her hands clenching in the fabric of his shirt, heart beating faster, up into her throat.

"Edward."

Carlisle's voice is calm, and he's controlling his thoughts well, but Edward is pretty certain that he wants to get him away from Bella. He turns to face Carlisle, keeping his arm wrapped around Bella and his own voice equally polite, despite the palpable tension.

"Was there something else you needed, Carlisle? We were just leaving."

Edward's growl startles her, so different from the odd purring noise she's been replaying in her head for weeks now, and she lets out a near inaudible gasp, instinctually drawing backwards, if only very slightly.

Bella turns her head, trying to see, though the way Edward is holding her is making it difficult for her, and her mouth drops when her eyes find the person he's addressing as Carlisle.

Of course they would know each other.

"Hello," he's wearing a lab coat and smiling at her cordially before he turns to Edward.

"Esme is delighted you'll be staying in town longer. She'd like to have you over for lunch. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to set an extra place, if you would like to bring Miss Swan."

She looks at him strangely wondering how he knows her name, and then remembering Charlie's staunch defence of the local doctor. He, like everyone else, had probably been informed of her coming, and he obviously knew Charlie.

"Jasper and Emmett were disappointed you couldn't stay longer the other night."  
_  
Nicely played, Carlisle._

Despite his irritation at being interrupted, Edward can't help being slightly amused by Carlisle's efforts. He can't help but respect them either – he is just concerned about Bella. But Carlisle can't surely be expecting him to go over for lunch? Deer blood served in crystal wine glasses? Carlisle's own thoughts are very careful, but some things are leaking through – he feels like he has no idea who Edward is now and doesn't want to risk angering him, for Bella's sake.

That thought causes a prickle of anger to appear, but Edward swallows it back down. A part of him wants to prove something to Carlisle, prove that even while he turned his back on the more humane lifestyle, he still isn't completely out of control. If he were, Bella would be dead.

"Thank you for the offer, Carlisle, but I don't want to impose and Bella and I have plans. I'll visit Esme another day."

The little comment about Jasper and Emmett does not go amiss. They would be more than happy to send him out of town in an urn, he knows. Judging from Jasper's reaction to him, he has no doubt Emmett feels similarly and despises vampires like him. Despite the shaky trust Carlisle has in him and Alice's visions, Edward is still a wildcard and potentially disruptive.

Sliding his palm across Bella's back, he grasps her hand, interlocking their fingers, and grinning at Carlisle.

"It won't upset her, will it? We could re-reschedule," Bella looks from Edward to Carlisle as she speaks.

Edward is already beginning to tug her away, and her fingers are against his chest, trying to resist while she waits for Carlisle's answer. His eyes tighten a moment, she notices, before he answers her. The shake of the doctor's head is curiously absent in his negation.

"I have not known Edward to break promises. He will see Esme."

"See you soon, Carlisle. And don't worry; I'll have Bella home at a reasonable hour. Wouldn't want the Chief to worry."

Carlisle's thoughts are frustrated but resigned, and Edward relaxes slightly.

And then he realises that he has just given away the fact that he knows more about Bella than she has ever told him.

"Edward?" Bella's voice is quiet. All of Charlie's warnings begin to play in her head, and she feels slightly sick to her stomach. She remembers Phoenix, giant Phoenix, and being anonymous, and she forgets about Forks, and the plausible reasons he could know her father is a police chief.

With a sigh he drops her arm, finally realising that she's uncomfortable. He runs his hand through his hair, murmuring an apology, before glancing back at Carlisle.

"I'll see you and Esme soon." It's a promise, and Carlisle knows as much, but his eyes travel back to Bella, and Edward is suddenly tired of this. "_Please_, Carlisle."  
_  
I'm trusting you, please don't let me down_. With a nod to Bella, he disappears back into the hospital, leaving Edward to wince at his departure. He's never really heard Carlisle's disappointment in him before now, although he knew he had to be. Even in that statement, it's hardly noticeable, but it still gets to the part of him that desires Carlisle's approval.

It's so silly to think about that, after all these years.

Bella watches as Dr. Cullen leaves, wisps of her hair blowing into her face, and she doesn't turn back to face Edward until several long seconds after he has disappeared back into the hospital.

Alone again with Bella, Edward turns to face her, unsure if he should go closer. She's rubbing her arm and frowning, although she doesn't raise her face to meet his. "I'm sorry; Carlisle and I have a…strained relationship." He decides to move nearer, although he doesn't touch her, the look on his face apologetic. Cool air fans across her face when he bends his head to hers, and he is grateful for the lies that come easily. "I was visiting and recognised your truck, and was told who you were." He shrugs lightly and gives her a smile. "You can imagine my pleasure; you've been on my mind since Seattle." Tentatively, his thumb brushes across her cheek and he allows a sorrowful look to appear. "It wasn't anything sinister, I assure you, but I understand if you'd rather not see me again."

He's taking a risk, although he can't help but feel confident that she'll reply how he wants her to.

"Wait." When he moves forward, she steps back, inclined the opposite of earlier. "I don't know anything about you," she offers back, her voice progressively smaller as he gets progressively closer. And she blushes when she realises that she knows a couple of things that maybe she shouldn't.

But whatever his shortcomings, Edward is still like a magnet pulling her negative, and her nose is against his shoulder when she speaks next, fingers curving up over his abdomen, chest following, almost shyly before they come to rest on his shoulders, and she looks up at him.

"Perhaps it's better if you don't know," he murmurs softly, pleased that she lets him get closer to her. His muscles contract under the light touch of her fingers, and he wants so much more than just this. As her face presses into his shoulder, he rests one hand on the small of her back, holding her body close to his, while the other cradles her head gently. "But really, you've asked me no questions about myself. I'll answer you."

Falsehoods come easily to him.

"Favourite colour," she murmurs, fingers spinning in circles against his skin, lips curving into a smile as she mumbles the rest of her twenty-question game. "Pet peeves," her voice is a whisper, "Hobbies," but she wants to finish. "Turn-ons--"

His lips on hers silence her for a brief moment.

"I should have a little something to hold on to, Edward." It's only the third time she's said his name, and the syllables roll in her mouth, searching for familiar places to rest. "When I'm near you, it's not safe. I feel sort of stupid. Reckless."

She has no idea what she's talking about.

A crooked smile appears on his face at her words and the sound of his name on her lips, and he draws back to look her in the eye. But his look turns speculative as she continues speaking, the smile falling and something slightly more dangerous appearing. A gentle touch of his lips against hers, and he thinks her heart is thumping hard enough for both of them.

"If that's the case, then why aren't you running?"

"I can't."

She sounds almost sad at the revelation, and she looks away. It's true, she's already trapped. The signs are all there, that this isn't good for her. That she should walk away. No one knows about him. She spends her days mechanically dragging through schoolwork, and she hasn't told him, but she suspects he knows from the way she flushes and tries to hide her smile, that he's been on her mind since Seattle, too.

"Can't or just unwilling to?" he archly asks, not understanding her thought process. "Do you have no sense of self preservation?" It doesn't matter that she doesn't know what he is; she knows he is something and yet still doesn't move away. Instead she just gets closer and closer and yet it still isn't close enough.

"Can't," she breathes into his shoulder, fingers clenching at his shirt, sliding along his stomach. She wants to try to explain, knows she won't be able to adequately. She thinks of Jane Eyre, of Edward and his deep secret, but she can't remember the words, she has to keep breathing.

"I can't explain it."

It's something to do with Rochester and heartstrings.

She's too modest to tell him, much less show him, but as Bella's brown eyes stare into his, she has a feeling he knows what she means.

He accepts her answer, knowing that he can't fully explain it himself. He'll rationalise with her blood and her silent mind, but there's more to it and he isn't going to admit that to himself.

It doesn't really matter, Edward supposes. She just offered herself to him like a sacrifice. He isn't going to complain.

So with a light shrug, he dismisses it. She isn't running and that is enough for now. "Anyway, you asked me some questions and it would be very rude of me not to answer them." That smile reappears as he leans back into her.

"Brown," he breathes, trailing kisses along her neck. "People who say the exact opposite to what they're thinking." A tongue tasting her and a _very_ gentle bite of her earlobe. "Playing the piano." More kisses moving across her cheek, hands sliding under her jacket to feel the smooth skin of her back. "You," he finishes with a growl, moving in for a kiss.

Her stomach knots, bursts into a million butterflies, and she gasps, her eyes sliding shut, his answers burning into her soul as they torch her skin. Her hands slide up his back slowly, mimicking, an invitation for more, as memories of Seattle invade her mind, leaving her sighing.

"We're in front of a hospital."

"I suppose it would be prudent to move. I don't especially want Carlisle to interrupt again." His eyes glance into the hospital for a second before returning to hers. They're drawing more attention than he would like. "And I'm sure I wouldn't want to give you a reputation around Forks." He drops his hold on her and steps back with his hands up, smirking. "Small town gossip can be unpleasant. So can I take you to dinner or would you prefer to do something else?"

She's half tempted to tell him that she's already eaten.

"I need to um--return stuff," she finally manages. There had been a point to this day, originally. "The library. I need to return a couple of books. There's a Subway nearby," she offers, it seems he's stuck on this dinner thing, and she doesn't know what he likes, just that she liked the way his piano fingers played across her skin minutes before.

With a roll of his eyes, Edward grabs her hands and begins leading her towards his car. "Don't be ridiculous. If I'm taking you to dinner, I'm taking you to dinner. Subway is not dinner." He doesn't really know, truthfully, but the so-called food looks foul, and any fast food place like that smells especially disgusting to him.

Bella clutches her bag closer, not wanting him to see inside, and something flickers across the back of her eyes, a sound bite fished out with a smile.

"Brown?"

"Yes, brown." A sly glance as he opens the car door. "You don't like brown?" He fights the impulse to smirk at her as she looks around his car, seeming slightly uncomfortable. "It's a warm colour."

He says no more on the subject as he quickly shifts into gear and speeds towards the library. It isn't that far, and he stands by her side as she returns the books, paying no attention to anything that isn't her. The place is practically empty, just an elderly librarian and one other person wandering through the high shelves. When Bella goes to look for another book or two, he takes a seat, still watching her until she disappears from his sight. Then he stands, silently following her as she moves further away from the other two people.

As she takes a book in her hands, he moves behind her, no hesitation in him as he sweeps her hair out of the way and begins kissing the back of her neck. His other hand has again found its way under her clothes, lying flat against the bare skin of her stomach, and she arches up against him. Removing his lips from her skin, he rests his head on her shoulder, both hands now making her clothes ride up, playing with the fabric of her bra with his fingers lightly brushing against her breasts.

Glancing down at the book she's clutching tightly in her hands, he smirks. "I was never much of a fan of Dickens. He was overly sentimental and prone to exaggeration. But perhaps you like that?"

The remainder of the time in the library continues in that way. He takes great delight in distracting her while he easily speaks about whatever she has picked up. After all, it is probable that he has read everything in here. Even that shelf of Danielle Steele books. He takes even more delight when her hands tug at him after a book falls to the ground, forgotten, and rake over his stomach, his back, his hair.

But he behaves like a perfect gentleman as soon as they emerge from the bookshelves to check out the books. The librarian frowns at Bella's flushed face and his own wrinkled clothes and mussed hair, and Edward gives her a dazzling smile before she gets too suspicious.

Too late – and his smile just looks smug.

She has only managed to pick out two books.

It's only when they're outside, and the wind helps to cool the flush on her face, that she begins to gather her thoughts. But Edward isn't quite finished yet, looking at her with an expression she can't quite understand.

"Dinner?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi guys! This has only taken us what, six months? Welll, this chapter's nearly triple the size it would normally be, so I hope it tides you guys over for a couple of weeks. M and I are back into full swing with writing, and! I just found out we've been nominated for one of those Indie Awards, which is really flattering. Thanks so much for thinking of us!**

**And now, the dinner it's taken us so many months to get to. I hope it's worth it for you all!**

In hindsight, the library had probably been a bad idea.

She hadn't thought about it. Of course, in Phoenix libraries were deliciously full on the weekends, and back then she'd never had a gorgeous boy chauffeuring her places. She wondered if his antics were some kind of payment for gas money, and then flushes, thinking of how silly she's being.

But when they'd arrived there was one librarian, if she could even be called that, and the serene look on Edward's face hadn't fooled her. She'd felt her face heat up as she disappeared into the stacks, only half hoping that maybe he was interested in perusing some literature as well.

He wasn't, of course.

At first, she'd been embarrassed and curious all at once, but as time wore on the embarrassment lessened, and she found herself pulling back, exploring new places, creating new sounds, and deciding which ones she especially liked. He seemed to shy away from letting her slip her hands underneath his clothes, but had no problem with hers, which proved to be cumbersome fairly quickly.

She was too busy trying to remember the backs of books she had to read six times before they made any sense, and when they emerged, she couldn't look the librarian in the face, and Edward did most of her speaking for her.

She didn't choose Subway because she was a fan of the cold-cut, she'd chosen it because given his track record, it was _safe_. At least she thought it would be. But it proved to be a point of contention between the two of them. She sat on her hands, avoiding his eyes as they drove away from the library, and towards one of the only sit-down restaurants in Forks. She could hardly imagine what Edward was capable of in dark public places where no one could see his hands.

She is unsurprised that he knows it existed. Boys like him (admittedly he was the only one she'd ever met) seem to have radar for stuff like this, and she's momentarily taken aback when she realises they've arrived and he's opened the door of the car for her. Gingerly, she steps out.

"Wait a second," her voice is less than a whisper, wavering madly like a bottle caught in a riptide, though that could be expected, given her train of thought. She's thankful he can't hear what she is thinking, because she's beginning to anticipate his expressions. Even thinking of them gives her chills, both kinds.

"You're um…I mean, you seem to enjoy," she sucks in a deep breath, making brief eye contact with him before looking away again. She can't do this sober, maybe she _should_ stare at him. "Touching me," her cheeks flush and her voice drops an octave as she meets his gaze and notices his eyes look a great deal darker than they had when they were inside of the car. Barely audible, she continues.

"I think we should probably—I mean, get it out of m—uh, your system. S—so people don't um—at the restaurant."

Right, because that would be incredibly embarrassing.

"Do you have a problem with me touching you?" He practically purrs it in her ear, enjoying her blushes and stammering, enjoying the noises she makes when he touches her even more.

Her fingers loop where a belt should have been and wasn't, and she mumbles the rest of her proposition into his chest, waiting for it to shake with laughter before he drags her inside and makes her eat something that probably cost half of what her truck did.

Hands tug at his cotton shirt, sliding underneath it, the tips of her fingers skimming along his hipbones, tracing the beginnings of the v-shape there, learning new musculature territory, pausing once, glancing up at him and biting her lip, to find he'd gone completely rigid, and she tries to figure out whether it's a good thing.

Too short to reach his mouth without a little help, her lips hunt along his throat as her fingers draw circles in his hipbones, pushing higher, shivering as she realises he is cold everywhere and she tries not to take it personally.

Sighing softly she shifts to new techniques, raking her fingers along his abdomen and letting out a gasp as he presses closer to her and she realizes that rigid is, apparently a very good thing.

There _had_ been more he intended to say - that he would never get it out of his system, but that he had no intention of humiliating her in public – but then her lips are on his neck like this, and her warm hands on his abdomen, it's all he can do to stifle his groan. As he presses closer to her – hands sliding down her sides to pull her to him - he begins to think that dinner is a waste of time. They should leave, get out of here, go somewhere they could be alone and –

"Miss? Sir?"

The voice of the hostess interrupts him, and he resists the urge to growl at her. Bella had sufficiently distracted him and he hadn't realised they had gathered an audience. Turning his head slightly in her direction, he quickly requests a private table for two, a sharp edge to his voice. The girl is blinking at him, her eyes focusing on his lips, and he wants to roll his eyes. Instead he glares at her, and is satisfied at the fear that runs through her mind and makes her pulse hammer.

They're soon seated in a dark corner of the restaurant, and Bella finds herself shifting closer to his chair as they sit down together. Edward does the same, leaning into her. Flickering candles illuminate his face and make it seem almost more sinister as he smiles at her and moves closer. Her pulse hammers hard in her wrists, and she grabs a menu, looking for a distraction more than food. She wonders if he'd let her get away with something like a side salad. Everything here looks so expensive, and she's counting out how many groceries she can buy for the cost of a steak when she feels Edward's lips against her neck, hand on her thigh and she jumps slightly at the ice spreading over her skin and the sudden warmth that counters it.

He can't resist it, can't stop himself from touching her, listening to the rush of blood just under her skin, and drowning in her scent. But still in control. Easier all the time. "See anything that takes your fancy?" he murmurs against her before resuming his kissing. But he pauses again, remembering her words from a few moments ago, and pulls back slightly. Just slightly.

"I apologise if I've made you feel uncomfortable." But he's grinning as he says it., not really repenting when her body reacts in such a manner.

"Ed—Edward," she murmurs, her hand clutching the menu so tightly that the edges are beginning to cut into her palm, and she cuts her eyes to him as he pulls away. If he had just muttered something like an apology to her, he certainly doesn't look like he meant it. Ducking her head, she feels herself flush even more, as she tries to blend into the dark corner as the waitress approaches – all legs and hair – and all Bella wants is to disappear.

The thoughts of their server reach Edward loud and clear and make him want to groan. She is being particularly graphic with them, and thinking disparagingly about Bella. His eyes narrow at her as she approaches and he tenses, struggling not to hold onto Bella too tightly.

"My name is Amy and I'll be your waitress this evening. Are you ready to order?" She's standing close to Edward's chair, sticking her chest out, mentally cutting Bella out of the picture.

He regards her coolly, before giving her a sinister grin and flashing his teeth. "Nothing for me." He is satisfied when she shudders slightly and her thoughts falter in fear, but it's only for a second before she dismisses it. So he tries another tactic. His earlier apology is going to be wasted, but he's sure she will forgive him. Turning back to Bella, he moves in close again, one hand on her back and the other high on her thigh. "I've already eaten."

Bella draws back to stare, wondering why he seems irritated about something. She places her hand on his visible one, tracing small, slow circles on the back it.

"What do you mean you've already e—oh!"

He's carefully sucking at her neck again, before he brings his mouth up to her ear and grazes her earlobe. His hand inches higher, fingers trailing softly over the fabric of her trousers. A smirk appears as the outraged thoughts of the waitress reach him and she again tries to get his attention, ignoring Bella's presence.

This could not be normal. There was no way that anyone could possibly be so one-minded as he was, and Bella was beginning to wonder about the point of dinner. Was it to validate what he thought was coming afterwards? That seems the only logical explanation, especially given the current location of his right hand. She sucks in a deep breath, staring hard at her menu and clamping her knees together as his fingers brush higher and higher.

"Edward." She certainly hopes that she sounds displeased with him, but she can't really make sense of tonal qualities right at that moment – all of her senses are once again consumed by him. One of her hands blindly grasps at his knee and squeezes hard, although it doesn't seem to have any effect. "Do you intend to just watch me eat again?" Her cheeks are flushed again, but embarrassment isn't the only thing that lingers there.

"I intend to do much more than that, Bella," he says idly, pulling back from her slightly and glancing around the restaurant, still ignoring the waitress who has finally focused on Bella.

"Um…do you have just spaghetti?"

They do, and it's called something infinitely more complicated, probably so that they could hike the price up. The waitress is still shooting looks at Edward, and while she can't exactly blame her, she also can't help the flickering in her chest, though she finds she can't put a name or reason to it.

And, after Amy had left, it suddenly occurs to Bella that they have no boundaries. She has no idea what is going on between them—too afraid of an ending to ask for a beginning, and so she settles on something else instead.

"She's pretty." One hand is still on Edward's knee, and begins tracing slightly higher to his thigh, her movements almost shy, before withdrawing entirely. "And I think she likes you."

He pulls his hand away from her leg. When she willingly reached out to touch him, it thrilled him and he wanted more, but he had promised to behave and so far he was breaking that promise. He removes his hands completely from her, although he still sits close by her, raising his eyebrows at her comment about the waitress.

"Was she? I thought she was obnoxious." He catches Bella in his gaze again. "Anyway, I really don't want to talk about the waitress."

"You don't seem to put much stock in talking at all."

It's out before she realises it, and her cheeks flush pink once more, darker than they were in the candlelight between the two of them. She shrinks against her chair.

"Sorry—I, uh."

She really isn't good at this whole date thing. Was this a date? His hand reaches for hers, and she gives it to him, her palm splaying open against his fingers, and a chill running up her spine as he stares at her intently - almost as though he was looking through her, at something inside of her. She ducks her head, mahogany hair curtaining her face.

They make small talk for a few minutes—or, Bella attempts to talk, but she thinks that Edward has decided words simply aren't necessary between them. What she doesn't know is that he's trying to match up her facial expressions to her words. She's like some kind of algebra equation. X equals her thoughts. But she isn't saying too much – this is just idle polite speak and for some reason that annoys him. He wants to know more.

"So Bella, how –"

Much to his irritation he is again interrupted as a glass clinks on the table and they both look up at a new waitress whose face holds a slightly frosty expression. The glass is frosted and full of a cherry-red liquid.

-_not even pretty and she has these guys fawning all over her, must be a huge slut_-

"From the guy at the bar." Her head snaps in the direction, and Edward recognises one of those boys from Bella's high school, his thoughts focusing on her and her lips wrapping around the straw of the glass, her lips wrapping around something else…

"I'm sorry, I don't—"

A low rumbling is coming from somewhere, and it stops Bella mid sentence. Suddenly, Edward is looking very annoyed about something.

He is unable to stop his growl, furious that he has to endure these thoughts and shoots a glare at the offending boy. Unfortunately, he's too engrossed in watching Bella. For a fleeting second, Edward decides he's going to have a word with the human boy outside and enjoy a drink from him in the style _he_ prefers; but he has to forcibly push that decision away.

The growl that leaves Edward is long and low and Bella's legs lock, as though she's trying to keep herself in her seat. Her hand recoils slightly as his nostrils flare, before she replaces it.

Suddenly daylight and twilight are taking on entirely new meanings; she's sitting rigid in her seat and her muscles tense.

_Run, run, run as fast as you can, you can't catch me_--

The words died in her mind. What was she?

His voice is terse as he tries to hold onto his control. "Take it back. She – _we_ – we're both underage. And so is the idiot" – he snarls the word – "at the bar. He has a fake ID." The gormless waitress stares at him for a moment, looking shocked, and this time he does roll his eyes. Perhaps being charming would work better? But he was getting impatient, and not in the humour to deal with this. "What are you standing there for? We don't want it." She blinks at him. "Shoo."

She finally moves then, annoyed at his rudeness even while thoughts like _I'd ride him like I stole it_ reach him and make him cringe slightly. The drink is returned to the boy at the bar, who finally slides his eyes away from Bella only to see the very dark look directed at him from the vampire sitting next to her. Foolishly he tries to enter into a staring contest with him while the waitress examines his ID once again.

Who did this silly little human think he was? Would he have to keep his lips permanently attached to Bella for them to keep away?

That idea had its merits.

"It's really not a big deal," Bella murmurs, the snarl in his voice making her shudder slightly. He sounds possessive, like she's a toy to be brought out at will, and he'd break her before someone else ever had a chance to pull her out of her box. But he doesn't reply, still glowering at the now withering boy that she realises she vaguely recognises.

The boy loses the staring match spectacularly, which means he is also suitably distracted while the waitress shows the ID to her manager. When he notices, he begins fidgeting nervously, both at that and the death glare he's still getting from Edward.

Edward only relaxes when the boy has been escorted from the premises. The hand clenched into a fist on the table finally loosens and he looks back at Bella, wondering what she sees when she looks at him.

He's wondering why she stayed.

So he says nothing for a second, taking her hand gently in his and collecting himself before shooting a crooked grin at her. He knows she's not pleased at his behaviour and tries to smooth it out. "How did you end up in Forks, Bella? I heard that you just moved here recently." His curiosity is genuine.

She doesn't like this. The multiple personality theory presents itself again as he smiles at her - the smile that made something in her heart tug violently. Bleeding internally. Heartstrings. Something else tugs too, something vague that needs to be made clear. Nevertheless, she answers his question, deciding she will ask her own next.

"I—my mother remarried," she offers, her voice quiet, eyes large, and she is reminded of the way his voice had rolled over her name before she was pressed between him and a door handle. "Being a newlywed is hard when there's a teenager around."

Her breath comes out in one large whoosh, and she looks back at him. Still staring. Her shoulders lock, and she stares back.

"She sent you away? Because she remarried?"

"No, she didn't send me away. I felt like--I've always taken care of my mother. And now she's got someone to do it for her. Charlie needs me more." She shrugs one shoulder lightly.

There are a million questions, a million things she can and probably should ask, but her mind pulls in a different direction than the rest of her, and safe things lock in there while what are probably the most trivial leak out.

"Wh—who is Esme? Your eyes, when you talked about her. They were—different."

While she waits for his answer, a plate of spaghetti that looks as though it probably could have fed several people arrives, and her stomach rolls. She really isn't too hungry anymore. The waitress gives her a strange look, one she can't place but it seems familiar to her - perhaps an expression she'd worn at some point too - and a snippy "Anything else?"

Bella murmurs her wish for a Coke, and Amy whisks away, with decidedly less spring to her step than before. A smile crosses Bella's face as Edward's voice reverberates in her mind. "_Obnoxious_."

His brow furrows and he has to glance away at the mention of Esme, choosing his words carefully.

"Esme is...a mother of sorts to me. Or at least, she was. I haven't seen her in while." His voice drops. "She was always too good to me."

She frowns slightly, noticing for the first time the way that his expressions change when he talks about people he knows.

"I don't understand why--why you were so rushed, um. Earlier. If she really was a mother to you..."

Twirling spaghetti on her fork, she glances at him before taking a bite.

Leaning back into his chair, he pulls himself a little away from her, not meeting her gaze.

"It's complicated."

His mouth turns downwards, wanting to change the topic, and he thinks back to her earlier comments about coming to Forks. He was still trying to understand her thought process.

"So you chose to come here? How did your mother feel about that?"

She stiffens slightly. He's asking too many questions and not answering enough of them in return, and she remembers suddenly how he'd known her father is the chief of police.

"You know--"

She takes another bite of her food, unable to say anything, waiting to see if he'll say something while she sorts through her thoughts.

"It's complicated."

A smile flickers on his face for a split second at her words and the tone in her voice, but it's gone as he realises he is going to have to give her something to find out what he wants to know.

"Touché."

He pauses for a moment.

"Carlisle and Esme...you could call them my adoptive parents. We parted a long time ago, and not on the best terms. I regret causing them pain, but..." He trails off, lost in thought for a second, and his voice is a murmur as he seems to talk to himself. "I didn't think Esme would want to see me. But it was unfair of me to think that."

"Aren't - you must have been very young when you left them. Dr. Cullen doesn't seem like someone to hold a grudge against a little boy."

He shakes his head lightly, choosing to ignore the comment about how young he must have been. "No, Carlisle wouldn't hold a grudge against anyone. The fault was - _is_ - mine."

It's her turn to pause then, absorbing his words before deciding to answer his own questions. Questions which are slightly odd, considering they seemed to revolved around a torn that he didn't live in.

"Well, my mom, she didn't want me to go. She felt suffocated when she - she didn't think it would be a good fit for me, here. It's different, but I'm adjusting. Weird how everyone knows who I am, though."

She looks at him pointedly, trying out her baiting skills.

Finally he looks at her again, a small smile ghosting over his face as he very easily picks up the hidden question in her words.

"You're very selfless. It couldn't have been easy for you to leave your home like that, just for your mother's happiness. There aren't many who would." A short pause. "Small towns can be like that. People find new arrivals interesting, especially when they're the daughter of the Chief of Police. Carlisle knew who you were even though he hadn't met you before. I wasn't prying exactly...just curious. I was surprised to find out you live here."

"And you're very smooth," she counters, something in his voice making her draw back, the undercurrents of the word "exactly" rushing under her fingertips between their palms, and her hand draws backwards, the pads of her fingers just barely brushing his.

A raised eyebrow is her only answer for a moment.

"Smooth?"

"You know all the right things to say to people."

She's just teasing, she thinks. But a shiver crawls slowly up her spine nonetheless.

"I've always been good at reading people. They usually aren't too hard to figure out. Nearly everyone falls into some kind of mold, making them easy to predict." His eyes narrow again. "You, however, are something of a mystery."

She flushes, thinking that's the opposite of true. She's like an open book.

"You're not exactly forthcoming either. What? Did you kill a man in Reno or something?"

A slow smile spreads across his face. "I've never been to Reno, actually. Too sunny for me." He leans back in his chair, watching her hands as she toys with her fork and represses his smirk. "I apologise Bella. I thought perhaps you would prefer me with an aura of mystery."

"Why--You want me to prefer you?"

"You are remarkably unobservant, but I really haven't ever done anything like this before. Whatever inappropriate behaviour I have displayed was all in the effort of getting you to... prefer me to likes of that idiot at the bar earlier… for example."

"I find that really hard to believe," she mumbles, before taking a sip of her drink, cutting her eyes away as he proclaims his intentions, without actually proclaiming his intentions. Then, there is a flare of indignation. "You think I would have gone for something like that if you weren't here?"

"I'm not lying, Bella," he says, more sharply than he intended. He is, after all, lying about practically everything else. "And no, I don't think you would have, but his..." - he almost says thoughts here, but catches himself - "...he wasn't trustworthy."

"I don't think most seventeen year olds who send other seventeen year olds drinks are. And then--" She stops, her hands are shaking slightly as she meets his gaze once more.

"And then there's you."

None of this makes any sense, really.

"Right." He is amused by her words. "Am I not like other boys?"

She flushes, biting her lip. Her napkin twists in her hand, and she wonders where the interrupting waitresses had all gone.

"You're..." she fishes for a word for a moment. "You're much more intense."

He can take that however he wants to. And from the flicker in his eyes, she thinks he takes it in a good way. She can't be sure, it's hard to see him in this light, which just sets her more on edge than before.

"Intense?" That also amuses him. Anyone else would probably have found his antics creepy by now, but intense appears to be a good thing.

She nods, relenting slightly as she peers up at him.

"So, if I preferred you--give me a little bit more to go on besides that you play the piano and your favourite colour is brown?"

His eyes narrow, and her pulse speeds up for a second. They're darker, they have to be darker. But he nods, and once again the first thing in her mind pops out.

"So y--you prefer the anonymity of Seattle then?"

She does too, but she's beginning to get the sense that it is for different reasons.

And then he shrugs, eyes tightening slightly as he draws his own hand away, breaking all contact between them.

"Seattle is convenient, as is the anonymity." It's easy to get lost there and make people disappear. "But I'm not really attached to the city."

"You're--"

She stumbles for a moment, the break in their contact flushing her skin to normal temperatures once more, and shocking her. She draws her hand to her lap, and looks down for a moment.

This is starting to get a bit creepier. Her nerve endings shiver and sing, and there's that rhyme again:

_Run, run, run, as fast as you can._

Again, she knows there are a thousand things to ask, but suddenly she's not so sure of anything – how could she be when he's looking at her like that and her body is practically humming. But she's thinking about it. She's learning ways to make him confess to things but he knows how to make her shut up.

He rolls his eyes lightly at her behaviour, unable to figure out the sudden increases in her pulse, but still he finds himself smiling gently at her, and throws her a bone.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to know?" It's probably a dangerous question.

She stills, thinking hard, realising she knows too little about him to pin down one specific thing that she wants to know.

He knows far too much about her already. She trembles slightly.

"Can't you just...talk about something? Your family, where you live, what you like to do?"

He closes his eyes for a second, contemplating what would possibly be safe to tell her.

"I'm not that interesting, really. I was born in Chicago. I don't remember my birth parents well - they died a long time ago. I don't have a family anymore, unless you count Carlisle and Esme and I'm not sure if you can. I do intend on seeing them both again soon. I have an apartment in Seattle, and I keep to myself most of the time. I like music; if I'm not playing it I'm listening to it." He shrugs as he finishes - his life really is very dull, aside from the killing and the blood drinking. He rarely has lasting contact with other people, and this is the longest conversation he'd had in years.

She draws back, inhales a sharp breath, but continues to stare straight at him. "Don't you...go to school?"

School. Of course. It isn't something he's had to think about in years. He hasn't been in a while.

"I graduated last year," he replies smoothly. "I suppose you could call this a gap year."

"A gap year full of--"

She's interrupted as Amy reappears, a new wave of confidence apparent as she positions herself flirtatiously and asks if they want anything else. Well, asks if Edward wants anything else, really.

Even Bella can pick out the innuendo lying just beneath her words.

Edward wants to scoff at her attempts. He gives her the briefest glance before turning to Bella.

"If Bella is finished, we'll just have the check, please."

"Yes," her breath comes out in a rush, and she doubts that Amy even hears her confirm that she is finished. Her fingers twitch once more, and she shoves them under the table. "Yes I'm done."

He continues to ignore the waitress until she leaves and answers the question Bella hadn't had chance to finish.

"A gap year full of music, really. And some travelling." It isn't a lie, not exactly. It _is_ what he was doing, just for a lot longer than a year.

"Seeing your...family doesn't really count as travelling," she murmurs, glancing around nervously. It's too dark, she can't see the door.

She shouldn't be this nervous, but she _should_. It's nothing like the alleyway: she knows his name, his favourite colour, other things that would make her flush in broad daylight, but somehow don't here. And yet still she can't shake the anxiety.

"Do you go other places?" She's trying not to look at the number on the check as it arrives because she's sure even though it's spaghetti, it's fancy spaghetti and she'll probably see stars next to the dollar signs.

He quickly places payment in the slip, with a generous tip that probably isn't deserved. Her heart is thundering in his ears and he wonders at that, at what her thoughts could possibly be.

"I've been around most of the northern states. Canada, Alaska. Europe for a little bit - Italy, France, a few other places on the continent." Again he _had_ been to these places, just not _recently_.

Hadn't she heard enough about him by now?

"Reno's too sunny, but not Italy?"

Another part of her wonders when he had time to visit all of these places, wonders if he's making things up just so she'll prefer him, even though it's certainly no longer a matter of choice anymore. It's a matter of heartstrings and blood.

Oh, if she only knew.

"Yes, I didn't like Italy that much. It isn't a place I would visit again. I enjoyed France a lot more."

Twisting slightly, he gives her what he hopes is a winning smile. He worried he's saying too much. He really doesn't want to be talking about himself at all and her heart rate still hasn't lowered. It is most distracting. "Don't you think I'm owed some questions about you now?"

"You don't know enough yet?"

Her pulse hammers through his ears again, anxious.

"I know your name, who your father is, where you go to school and what kinds of books you prefer. I don't even know your favourite colour."

"You know what kind of car I drive. And my favorite color is purple. Like thunderclouds and heat lightning."

"I would call your truck a menace," he says lightly, "but I think it might actually be a safe vehicle. I doubt it goes very fast, though."

His fist clenches involuntarily, and she moves her knee away from where it has been resting near his, to near underneath the table. The car thing isn't fair because she knows what kind of car he drives too. One too expensive, and too fast.

He frowns slightly. "You seem nervous."

"I'm just…I'm not entirely sure what's going on here. And the way you--" Overreacted would be the word, but she didn't want to say it, didn't want to see if irritation can be directed at her too. "act around other people."

Her description of her favourite colour makes him smile slightly, although it falls when she moves away and again he has to force himself to relax. This dinner is not turning out how he would have imagined. She's so hard to figure out.

"Like I said before, I find people easy to read. I suppose I just get irritated easily."

She thinks about what that means, sucking her bottom lip inward as she contemplates what he is saying. Is she irritating him? It's certainly beginning to look that way.

"You don't seem like the best person to...make mad," she agrees, fiddling with the complementary mint on the plate before popping it into her mouth, and allowing he gaze to travel upwards as he stands.

He ponders something for a second, deciding to try a different tactic as he stands up, with a look of resignation passing over his face. "I'm sorry. I haven't exactly been a gentleman. Would you like me to take you home now?"

"No."

It comes out so quickly that she isn't even sure she's said it. But she knows she didn't want him going to her house, seeing where she lives and possibly running into Charlie.

"I--I mean, you have been, I've just--this whole thing is kind of...new?"

At her quick refusal, his eyebrows raise. "I'm not letting you walk home, Bella." Although it is safer than being with him. "This is all new to me too, but it's getting dark and it isn't safe. I know that I've made you uncomfortable and I'm not going to do anything – I'll just bring you home."

She didn't have a plan, but that isn't something a quick index of 80's movies can't fix.

They begin moving towards the exit, the hostess wishing them a pleasant evening. He keeps a safe distance between them now, not wanting to crowd her, a little concerned that he is frightening her away. Holding the door open for her, they began walking and Edward tries to look contrite. It isn't a look he's mastered yet.

"It's Forks, of course it's safe. The Chief of Police comes home at six on the dot every night."

She shifts slightly closer nonetheless.

"It isn't safe, Bella. It doesn't rest easy with me to let you have to make your own way home."

"How do you know I don't live right across the--" her voice catches when she notices what is across the street. A shoe repair shop. "--street?"

He rolls his eyes at that. "I don't. Do you repair shoes at night then?" His tone is teasing, a smile playing across his lips. "If you live within walking distance I'll walk you home. If not I'll drive you." Silently he wills her to stop being so stubborn. If he hadn't already promised not to touch her he would have distracted her that way.

His formal, clipped way of speaking makes her feel like she is a child being reprimanded, and she doesn't like it.

"Well, how very 19th century of you. If Mike tries to attack me I'll make sure I mace him," she rolls her eyes this time, still not completely convinced, and slightly irritated that he seems to think she can't take care of herself. Of course there were all of those hospital visits as proof but--she'd taken care of her mother for years now.

Somewhere, far off, a wolf howls, and the sudden rush of birds from trees at the noise make her jump. Point one for Edward, although she manages to keep her voice even.

He has to smirk. Nature is on his side tonight, apparently.

"And I bake cookies in a tree during my spare time. Edward, this is--oh."

They've come to a place where abruptly the streetlights end, probably because the shops had as well, and she sucks a breath in.

He wants to ignore her protestations, but some little insecurity gets the better of him. "Are you so desperate to get away from me quickly?"

She hears him, the only sound between them the crunch of stray leaves underfoot, but she didn't know what to answer. She's being pulled both ways. Her head told her it probably isn't the wolf she needs to look out for, and if she is honest, her heart says the same. It is the rest of her that's being pesky and insisting that somehow this is okay.

As they leave the main, well-lit area, he pauses, looking at her expectantly. Regardless of what she wants, he isn't letting her go home alone. "So Bella, are we walking or driving?" He knows the answer very well, and he's going to have to watch himself around her.

She doesn't answer his next question immediately, the yes no no no yes yes no playing through her head like a symphony, though she again shifts closer to him as they walk.

"Walking," she answers finally, chin jutting suddenly in defiance. It's irritating the way he doesn't seem to think she can handle this on her own. Her fingers clench around the place where her bag should have been--before she realises that it is inside Edward's car. He'd have to see her again.

"It's through there," she mumbles as they continue on, and she nods in the direction of a road which wound through a grove of trees. As they go, her mind is coming up with places along the way where she can get Edward to separate from her.

He replies as stiffly as she. "Very well." He is very much aware of her bag back in his car, but isn't going to mention it. It gives him an excuse to see her again, and he isn't sure if she wants to see him again. He thinks back over the evening, able to see where he went wrong, and hoping he was beginning to pick up on her expressions. Time for some damage control.

"I have a problem with my temper sometimes." He glances towards her as he confesses this, taking in her expression. "I wasn't ever annoyed at you, Bella. The waitress was aggravating and I didn't appreciate another boy showing you attention like that." He frowns. "I've never been jealous before."

"You were jealous? Of...of him?"

Maybe that had been the twanging in her chest after the appearance of each and every waitress who'd been by during the course of their - her - dinner. She'd had no cause to be jealous, of course. She still has no idea what is going on between them, what he wants out of this, and that terrifies her almost as much as the ferocity in his eyes had.

"Yes, he was clearly trying to get your attention despite the fact that you were there with someone else. The fact that he sent you an alcoholic drink just exacerbated it."

He shrugs slightly, allowing himself to look slightly repentant.

"You have my attention," she mutters turning her head away from him as she said it, and they walk slowly. It's fifty/fifty now, good attention and bad too, but now she knows she means what she'd said outside of the hospital. She can't just walk away now. There's too much involved

"Is that good or bad, I wonder?" He matches her tone, his own voice quiet and he isn't sure if she hears.

They walk, still with that safe distance between them, and he gets more frustrated, wanting to say something, question her, kiss her. As he takes in their surroundings he grows more exasperated with her. It is idiocy for her to want to walk home alone in such dark and secluded surroundings. And yet it is completely sensible for her to want to be away from him. But that is the last thing _he_ wants.

And he's thirsty again. But it's manageable for now.

The silence is almost as unnerving as his gaze, and she shivers slightly, night-time breezes passing through the air around them. He is most certainly angry with her now, she decides between nervous glances at his face. She doesn't want to know what would happen if she truly incurred wrath from him. The thought makes her shiver again, and not from the cold.

He could let her go on, let her think she was going home alone and tail her to make sure she arrives safely. Perhaps leaving her alone _would_ be best for now. He has a reason to see her again and that would have to do for now. As things are, he's only going to get more frustrated or say something incriminating.

One final effort.

He steps in front of herm blocking her off and forcing her to a stop. She looks like she's just going to step around him, but he speaks, a pleading note in his voice. "Bella."

Her eyes had been focused on the ground, following her shoes intently, but she looks up in surprise when he moves in front of her.

_Too fast._

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs and steps closer to her. They aren't touching, but as he speaks his breath blows into her face and his eyes bore into hers. His face is open, sincere. "I'm sorry for my behaviour. If you truly believe you're safe walking home, I'll leave you alone from here. I won't force my company on you." He shrugs, ducking his head before looking at her through his eyelashes. "I just wanted to be around you."

"Edward." It is supposed to come out in the same tone, but he's close, too close, and the heart-pounding, breath-catching nerves are setting in once more, as she breathes it out, shakily. Her eyes dart around the deserted road quickly, before his eyes pull her back in. She finds herself leaning in to him, and not entirely of her own accord either.

"You're not forcing anything. I'm still here with you, aren't I?" She reaches out to brush her hand across a jacket-covered arm, before pulling back again. "And you didn't really do anything wrong, I just—it's—you're very—" Forceful? Severe? Reactory? "—intense." Ah, the old standby then.

"And, I—I want that too," she finds herself saying, letting her hand slide between his fingers, telling herself it isn't lying if she's merely switched a couple of adjectives. Children aren't supposed to know the difference between want and need anyway, right?

"Didn't you have questions for me?" She's doing her best to be diplomatic, considering the pitch black that surrounds them.

The touch of her warm fingers sends a shock through him, and his own hand curls around hers, one side of his lips rising in a small smile as they begin walking again.

"I didn't think you really wanted to answer. I don't know what to expect with you, and I appear to be reading you wrong. I feel like everything I'm doing is wrong," he finishes with a grimace.

With her hand in his, she finds an entire side of her body following suit, frostbitten coolness passing through him into one side of her while the other remained warm. She wonders if that means something.

"Not wrong," her breath comes out in a rush of air as she remembers exactly what he'd been doing so far is wrong. "Just...just sooner than expected," she tries to explain.

He looks at her apologetically. "You aren't cold, are you?" Why on earth didn't she let me drive her home?

They continue walking, and she smiles slightly, shaking her head. "No. I don't think it's the cold, strictly." He returns her smile with that mysteriously half one of his own.

"I wasn't thinking that you'd--today at the library, I mean," she stammers. "We haven't even--well I guess now we have." And suddenly she looks up at him, quirking her mouth to the side in a half-grimace. "Even though you didn't eat anything. Unless. I mean, unless that doesn't count as a--date."

"No, I think it counts as a date," he says smoothly. "I'd like to take you out again, if you want. I promise to behave. I was very...forward, when we were at the library."

Her pulse quickens at his confirmation, and she curls her shoulders inward, sure that he can hear it--that the whole forest can hear it.

The corners of her mouth turn up. "You're not very good at keeping promises, though."

He nods in agreement with her. "Yes, I do seem to break promises. You are far too tempting. But I'll be good from now on, if that's what you want." His thumb rubs over her hand absently as he speaks.

She watches as they pass Angela's house, the high school, and realises her chances of escaping are fast escaping her, and her heart speeds up and then slows to a more normal pace at the realisation of what she is allowing herself to do.

She glances up at him.

"Kind of a long drive, though."

Her quickening pulse was like a beautiful song in his ears, and he swallows back some venom, realising he would need to hunt when he left her. He doesn't want to leave her tonight, curious as to what would pass her lips while she slept, and he's actually considering drinking from an animal just to sustain him for a few more hours. He needs to be cautious.

"I like driving," he speaks absently "The distance doesn't bother me that much. Anyway, Carlisle and Esme will probably let me stay with them, if I wanted to. I'll need to speak with them soon."

"Okay."

His thumb against her skin makes her swallow hard, the skin there rising up into gooseflesh as he traces small circles into the juncture between thumb and forefinger. She has to look away, knowing her face is burning again.

"There's what I want, and then there's what's a good idea," she mumbles, letting the space between the two of them increase as she drifts to the side of the road. They're now a good block and a half from Charlie's. Or, they would be if this was anything resembling a city at all.

"I think--I think here's good," she nods, trying to sound sure of herself, and not like she might get eaten by wolves in the five minute walk to her house. She draws close to him again. "Esme sounds like she loves you very much," a smile twitches at the corners of her mouth.

"Right," he murmurs serenely, letting go of her hand. He knows exactly where they were and he wonders why she doesn't want him to walk her to her door. Afraid of what her father might think?

She's still standing close to him though, and he tries to ignore that twisted feeling in his gut whenever Esme is mentioned. "She does. I don't deserve it."

As if to prove his earlier point about behaving, he takes a step back from her in the direction they had come in, shooting her a crooked grin, mentally daring her to come to him this time. He isn't sure what he'll do if she doesn't.

"Stop being such a masochist, it's really not attractive," she mutters, casting her eyes at her shoes once more.

"I'm not being a masochist, it's just the truth. Maybe I'll tell you why someday." Unlikely.

"You say that like you're going to be around for a long time." There's laughter there, spooled through her words, but underneath it, the thought both terrifies and thrills her in alternating degrees.

.

"So if this is the end of a date," she swallows, still unwilling to believe that she'd been on a first date and almost completely missed it. And with him, of all people.

"Kissing you after one date could get me a reputation around Forks, couldn't it?" she teases, the way his words flowed amusing her still.

She glances to her left, quickly, the porch light in her neighbour's house making her relax a little bit.

He takes another step back, amusement in his eyes, although he keeps his voice serious. "It could indeed. We can't allow that, can we?"

"Edward." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Of course now would be when you'd choose to behave."

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm getting mixed messages from you. You're hard to figure out." His tone is teasing, although he's being completely truthful. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

For every step he takes back, she takes one forward, though not quite so large as his. "I bet--" she starts, not sure if it will work, but remembering vividly the flare in his eyes. "That kid at the bar would have tried to kiss me. If I'd gone along with it."

His eyes narrow as she continues. He stops moving then, and stays still, going no closer to her.

"He would have tried a lot more than that," he mutters darkly. "Are you trying to aggravate me?"

It's easier to be around him when there's an end in sight, and the need can pulse louder than the trepidation that surrounds her. Right now her end is a porch light and his is a silver Volvo.

"Like you haven't already?" she asks, but her voice is quieter than before, and she reaches for his shirttails. "I'm just going over my options."

That's an understatement, and she sounds more confident than she actually is in the four boys who have actively taken interest in her, and the one earlier, who might just be a sign of things to come on Monday.

"And, the glaring thing is slightly uncomfortable," she adds in at the end. His eyes look more menacing that way, and she doesn't like what it does to her stomach.

He sucks in a breath as she pulls at his shirt, and fights with himself to remain still. He isn't giving in, to the thirst or to her. His own voice is equally as quiet as he looks down into her face.

"I was trying to make an effort."

"It was a nice effort," she acknowledges, nodding slightly, caught in his gaze, drifting forward as he did too.

Unconsciously, he tilts his head closer to her, leaning forward slightly. "I would have no need to glare if you didn't mention kissing other boys in front of me."

"And why not?" Her own head tilts slightly to the left, and a smile twitches at the edges of her mouth. "Since the one in front of me seems to have no interest in it."

He seems in a better mood than he had been several minutes before, and her pulse spiked with something other than fear when she realises that their noses are almost touching. She can breathe him in. And she does.

"I'm glad you appreciated it," he murmurs, returning her smile. "And I never said I had no interesting in kissing you. Could we perhaps have a signal of some kind for when you want me to behave or not? It would save me a lot of confusion."

She stiffens as she presses her lips against his briefly, unaccustomed to the icy tingle spreading across her mouth.

Her scent swims around him and her pulse hammers in his ears, and when her lips meet his that jolt from before shoots through his body. He stops thinking then, kissing her back and deepening the kiss. His hand finds its way to her hair, running through the long strands gently, while his other is on her waist, pulling her body to his.

"How about we just go with a general rule that when--" She's trying to speak against his lips, but she's cut off because he's pulling her closer, and kissing her so deeply that she breathes him and not air. Her hand moves to rake through that odd-coloured hair of his as she presses up against him, and then rests against the side of his face.

She can feel goosebumps begin to break out on the top of her hand, a chill spreading through her fingers, so she moves away slowly, temperatures adjusting, and then blinks up at him. "That counts as a first-date kiss, right?" She can't help but notice that he looks pained, jaw tight, teeth clenching and she feels a shiver leak through her once more, before he opens his eyes and stares down at her.

He's making sure he's still in control. He wants so much more than this, but he will have to be satisfied for now. A few second later, confident in himself again, he smiles down at her.

"Yes, I think it does."

He lets the fingers that had been in her hair move to her face, trailing across her cheek before he leans in again, kissing it and then her lips softly.

He is still smiling as they separate.

"Good night, Bella. I'll see you soon."

It isn't a question.

She blinks at him as he says goodnight, shoving her hands back into the pockets of her jacket, her fingers warming considerably.

As she turns, she stumbles slightly, toe catching on a crack in the old pavement, and catches herself quickly, her cheeks flushing as she thinks something along the lines of how _it __figures_.

She only turns back to look at Edward once more.

"I expect you to turn around and walk the other way as soon as I do."

Only a small part of her would mind if he stays and watches her move all the way into the warm light of her home.

**First of all, thank you to the lovely ladies who beta'd this chapter: KTBass, and adair7. If you're not reading their stories, you should be -- Flannelward's mine though, that's all I'm saying. Also, a shoutout to michellephants, cause she asked for one, and because she bullied me into uploading the chapter, and for that, I thank her.**

**I hope we haven't lost our touch after all these months! Review and let us know what you thought!**

**- C.**


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